Hammer Effect
by wyval
Summary: Humanity successfully reached for the stars, confident in their ability to conquer all who stand against them. Yet in the darkness of space, an ancient menace stirs, that could possibly eclipse all past enemies Humanity faced - including those from the depths of time they faced in the wars for Terra itself...
1. Chapter 1

**Hammer Effect**

 _It is the 3rd Millennium. For less than two centuries, Humanity has been striving to expand into the cold darkness of the void, unheeding of the many ageless perils awaiting them. From their tiny, insignificant blue planet, the Systems Alliance is determined to ensure the protection and ascendance of Humanity._

 _Unearthing ancient, incredible technologies discovered on Mars, Humanity proved to be a match for the might of the Turian Hierarchy, the military arm of the Citadel Council. The full-scale war was averted thanks to the cold, reptilian logic of the Salarians and the sensuous whispers of the Asari. An uneasy stalemate was reached between these galactic powers, allowing Humanity to expand once more, establishing more and more colonies on distant worlds._

 _Yet these are not peaceful times. Humanity is beset from all sides - from the subtle, financial and political maneuvering of the Council, the ruthless warlords and megacorps of the Terminus Systems to the slavering, bestial packs of vorcha and krork. Though not united, each galactic power shares the common goal of exploiting and controlling the newcomers on the galactic stage._

 _To enlist in the Systems Alliance in this time is to be among the growing number of Humanity's protectors, either openly with arms or behind the curtains with soft words and pointed pressure. The orbital factories around Mars, Luna, and Terra Nova struggle to build the fleets and weapons necessary, while the laboratories of Earth, Noveria, and Fehl Prime try to match and surpass the alien technologies. It is an age of exploration, expansion and science, perhaps even a new era where humanity ascends to prominence._

 _Yet even now, perils long forgotten stir in the void between and beyond the stars. Soon, the fragile peace will break down, and the starry void will echo with the sounds of carnage and the pitiless, uncaring laughter of thirsting gods..._

 **Part I – Luxury of Innocence**

 **Prologue**

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _Constant companion during slumber, that feedback, present and reoccuring despite the regular occasions of feasting. A shard of the towering intelligence is cast across the void, brushing minds, bending wills, sowing commands - instinctively, impatiently. Maybe it is early? Maybe it is time to feast? Cannot tell, as the fellow intelligence is silent. Has it been always silent? Did it vanish in the near past? Will it vanish in the near future?_

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _The shard of attention alights on an alien presence - slight, vastly inferior. Maybe not inferior. Different, dissimilar. Almost anathemic to the intelligence. Still, it reaches out, grabbing it, twisting, overwriting. The voice, the song changes. It is almost like a siren call that can be followed, that will drown out the harmony of the spheres. The intelligence stirs ever closer to fully waking, to once more partake from the feast._

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _The siren song is silent, the call gone. The awake shard of the intelligence is once again cast into the void, seeking, observing, measuring._

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _The attention focuses, finding something infinitely smaller than itself, yet strangely similar. Compatible. Useful. Easier to affect than the singers are. The singers were? The singers will be? No matter, these presences are not anathemic to itself. The focus intensifies. Connection is established. Drawing on past experience - its own? that of its partners? -, a mode of cooperation is suggested and accepted._

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _Something is wrong. There is a small, but very definite alien presence within. The focus shifts inwards, centering on the presence, reading, inundating. The alien presence cracks as expected, but it does not shatter. The focus retracts slightly. Surprise wells up from its core. Similarities to the presence are searched for in the memory, but that is all those are. Presences that crack, but do not shatter. Some of those aligned with the intelligence. The focus closes again, finding the cracks in the presence, worming in, giving purpose, drive...sharing its focus._

 _Hunger-pang. Susurration._

 _Soon, it is time to feast. Soon, the intelligence will sound and hear the call. And this time, it may well feast alone, without the silent partner. Perhaps that would be enough to sate the hunger...and perhaps then the endless susurration will finally cease, and the intelligence can fully focus again._

 **Arcturus Station - 2183 March**

The thick smoke lent an eerie aspect to the harsh blue light of the monitors displaying various humans. Low whispers were stilled when the man at the head of the table cleared his throat.

'Ladies and gentlemen, we've been at this for hours. Days, if we consider the work of our esteemed Navy colleagues. In my considered opinion, we should not delay much longer. Major Kyle, if you would.' - rumbled a tall, pudgy man dressed in expertly tailored suit, motioning with his cigar.

'Certainly, Senator' - the tired-looking, heavyset man manipulated the controls of his omnitool, and the displays changed.

'Captain Irina Pavlichenko, N7Δ. Star of Terra recipient for her actions on Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz. SAN Meritorius Service Award for service on the Manswell Academy. Involved in extensive anti-piracy operations leading up to Battle of Torfan. High aptitude for marksmanship, CQC, leadership both planetside and spaceside. Minor cybernetic modifications. …' - the synthetic voice was toned down as a balding, middle-aged man started to speak

'I would advise against her. Sure, her qualifications are impressive and her record is spotless. She's well-liked both at home and popular with the Citadel races. But, can we afford to lose her? Given the tasks and type of work Spectres are usually handling…'

'I agree with the Ambassador. Commander Pavlichenko is currently much more useful for us as both an recruitment icon and an instructor. VI, next candidate.'

'1st Lieutenant Kai Leng, N7Δ. Intelligence Star recipient. CQC expert. Extensively involved in counterintelligence operations, anti-piracy operations up to the Battle of Torfan. Shadow Project instructor. Moderate cybernetic modifications….' Again the synthetic voice was toned down, this time by a scarred older man in an admiral uniform.

'No, for several reasons. One is we cannot extract him easily from the operation he's currently deployed on. More importantly, the man can't work with aliens for an extended time.'

'Except krogans and krork, strange as that may be.'

'Well, both of those races respect killers, and Leng is one, if nothing else.'

'I have to agree with Admiral Hackett. Sending someone with Leng's well-known anti-alien bias would definitely not go well with the Council, and would make us look either idiotic or uncaring, and set back negotiations for...' - the smoky contralto of the smartly dressed woman started to rise in volume, then subsided as Senator Manswell nodded towards her.

'We know, Director Bergman. Still, not considering Leng at all would send a message to certain parties here and on Earth, and that is something we can ill afford. Please continue, Major.' -Kyle again motioned with his omnitool, and the VI started speaking.

'1st Lieutenant Susan Rizzi, N7Δ. Biotic expert. Received numerous Purple and Silver Hearts. Primarily involved in anti-piracy operations, exploration, and joint tasks with asari forces. Has extensive experience with hostile environment and lifeforms. Adapted and pioneered a number of techniques into the Fury Project. Currently deployed to Grissom Academy as instructor. Very good shipside leadership ability, performs less well groundside. Moderate cybernetic modifications, including…'

'Sad as it is, I'd have to veto her as well.' - Admiral Hackett spoke up, and seemed to leave it at that, before noticing the questioning look of the last, silent member of the committee.

'Well, professor, to answer your unspoken question, the Lieutenant is not really popular with the personnel. No-one would outright question her skills and accomplishments, just her tendency to attract problems, complications, and unforeseen circumstances, which leave few if any of her command standing.' - Director Bergman supplied.

'Wait, wasn't she the one on Akuze?' - Professor Munir, a tall, bearded man asked.

'Akuze, Carcosa, a couple of missions to Batarian space, a number of special missions for you dep…'

'Director Bergman, I am perfectly aware of what my department requires from the armed forces.'

'Director, Professor - would you kindly cease with the sniping? I am sure all of us have several, equally important issues to deal with' - Ambassador Udina cut in.

'I agree. Major Kyle, continue.' Another sweep of the omnitool, and the VI's voice droned again.

'1st Lieutenant Alexander Shepard, N7Δ. Distinguished Service Cross recipient for actions in the Battle of Elysium. Extensively involved in retaliatory anti-piracy operations, culminating in the Battle of Torfan. Court-martial after Battle of Torfan resulted in acquittal. Limited biotic potential. Involved in Projects Destroyer and Paladin. Satisfactory leadership both palentside and shipside. Moderate cybernetic modifications….'

'You seriously want me to convince the Council that the Butcher is our choice?' Ambassador Udina chuckled, palming his face.

'He would be adequate for the job, I assure you' Kyle said, voice tired. 'I may not like him, but if he's given a task, he does it well, and adheres both to the spirit and the letter of it, if possible.'

'Ambassador, do not forget that there is precedent for similar individuals being admitted to the Spectre corps - just consider Tela Vasir, or Lonar Maerun. Or even their idolized Saren Arterius.' Admiral Hackett's voice was a low growl.

'I concur, as well. My department has worked a few times with the Lieutenant, and we are satisfied with the results.' Professor Munir punctuated his sentence with a puff from his pipe.

'Director?' Senator Manswell looked at the woman, who nodded.

'If that's the case, I'll make the calls' Udina stood, nodded, and left towards his office.

 **SSV Normandy, 2183 March**

"Simple shakedown cruise, right. Does the brass think we're idiots?" the bearded man asked, while his hands flitted across numerous panels, guiding the ship towards the slowly spinning relay.

"Don't be too paranoid, Jeff. It is a shakedown cruise - we just have a few unusual personnel on board" the pilot's dark-haired companion answered, while focusing on the diagnostics running on his screen.

"Don't give me that, Kaidan, I know you're not nearly so naive. Anderson, I can see in command - the man is probably one of our best captains, and he has taken a number of new ships on their maiden cruise, true. A turian representative? I wouldn't like it, but hey, they had a hand in designing our baby. But if that representative is a Spectre, and not just any of those but Nihlus freaking Kryik? And our marine detachment is lead by the Butcher himself? Yeah, right, simple shakedown." The pilot frowned, made a few adjustments on his controls and keyed his comm. "Approach run on relay has began, all hands prepare for translation."

"Jeff, you're overthinking it. Simply the tech level and potential of the ship is enough for Spectre attention, and even the Butcher needs to kick back and relax sometimes, doesn't he?"

The pilot's answer was interrupted when the Normandy aligned with the Charon Relay, and seemed to stretch into infinity for an immeasurable second. The relay transit complete, Jeff Moreau scanned his instruments, and spoke into his comm again.

"Captain, we have cleared the relay. Course set for Eden Prime, ETA 55 minutes."

"Understood, Flight Lieutenant. Notify me when we reach orbit, and let Lieutenant Commander Shepard know that I await him in the briefing room."

"Yes sir, will do." the pilot grimaced, looking at his companion "I thought I was his pilot, not his secretary."

"Well, Flight Lieutenant, I do not think you'd look fetching enough in a secretary's uniform." the voice rumbled from behind the pilot and Kaidan, and as they turned, surprised, it seemed to them as if a patch of shadow had detached itself from the bulkhead.

Jeff Moreau went a shade paler behind his beard, as the black-armored figure stepped closer, looming over him and his co-pilot, its gold-flecked brown eyes glaring down at him. Shepard then grinned, breaking the tension.

"Tell the Captain I'm on my way, Flight Lieutenant."

The two in the cockpit shared a confused look, before Jeff keyed his comm, and Alenko, frowning, turned to his instruments, the yellow flicker of a warning light catching his eyes.

Nihlus Kryik looked up from his datapad when the door of the briefing room slid open. Shepard entered, one hand massaging his temple, eyes half-shut.

The turian's mandibles twitched in a short grin.

"Told you not to drink ryncol, Shepard. That thing kills you faster than a hit from that oversized cannon you're lugging around."

"Ryncol's not a problem, Nihlus. Relay transition always gives me headaches for a short while. Can't seem to figure out why. Anyway, where's the Captain? He said he wanted me here."

"He'll be along shortly, he's fetching some paperwork from his cabin."

The two armored figures silently watched each other for a few seconds, the staredown interrupted by the door hissing open again.

"Shepard, Nihlus. Shall we get down to business, then?" Captain Anderson placed a number of datapads on the table, and started the large screen with a wave of his omnitool.

"By all means, Captain. I'm sure the Lieutenant Commander is somewhat curious." the turian's flanging voice was even, but a twitch of his mandibles betrayed his amusement. Anderson nodded with a small grin, as Shepard snaped to attention..

"With all due respect Captain, Spectre, I have a few ideas why we are here, and I'm not sure I like them." Shepard rumbled, gaze on the projector screen where details of his assignments scrolled down.

"Elaborate."

"My guess is that Spectre Kryik is evaluating me and likely other members of the crew for some task where you want to requisition Alliance forces. Considering the capabilities of this ship, I think that the operation you are planning is likely a recon mission into Geth space, or arranging a disappearance for some troublesome Terminus warlord."

The turian's mandibles twitched again, but Anderson spoke.

"Shepard, you are partially correct, Nihlus is here to evaluate you - but for Spectre candidacy. We finally managed to convince the Council that we are due a position in the Spectre corps."

Shepard's eyes widened, his mouth open...but the sound which was heard came from Anderson's comm.

"Report, Alenko."

"Captain, we got a distress call from Eden Prime. Relaying it to the briefing room screen."

The two humans and Nihlus watched the shaky armor cam from a marine, listened to the gunfire and screams, as the officer shouted for his men, trying to reorganize them from what appeared to be an overwhelming surprise attack. They saw tanks eradicated by a scarlet beam as an immense ship lifted off in the background, a bone-jarring bass scream erupting from the screen. A female marine dragged the officer on, as humanoid figures closed in. A flash of blue, then the transmission cut out.

"Kaidan, reverse and hold at 38.5. Joker! Flank speed, engage cloaking, and get us to Eden Prime, do not keep us on the shortest path between the planet and the relay." Anderson commanded, noting how both Nihlus and Shepard tensed, hands at their weapons, not even hearing the pilot acknowledging his orders. On screen, the immense black ship reappeared.

"Does the design look familiar to either of you?" Anderson asked, getting two headshakes.

"Well, this just got more complicated than a simple pickup. Captain, I'm going to the staging deck, have the Lieutenant Commander meet me there." Nihlus returned Anderson's nod, then marched off, his omnitool flaring to life.

"A simple pickup? What's on Eden Prime that would warrant a new stealthship with you in command, and a Council Spectre? Nevermind that, what's important enough for an action like that?" Shepard asked, motioning towards the black ship. His headache felt a bit worse, and he could swear he tasted blood.

"An intact Precursor Beacon, Shepard. Get suited up, you and the marines will have work to do. We need to get that Beacon - and Nihlus needs to stay alive, if possible, otherwise who knows what the Council will say." Anderson watched as Shepard's eyes closed for a fraction of a second, his face becoming a calm mask.

"Understood, Captain." The Butcher saluted, about-faced, and marched off.

 **SSV Normandy, staging deck**

The staging deck of the Normandy is full of activity as the marine squad is preparing for deployment.

Kaidan Alenko keeps an eye on the marines while he himself is suiting up. Just a precaution, old reflexes working - he knows that his people are more than professional enough to take care of the small details when preparing for a combat drop. The staff lieutenant checks his armor seal, the ammo block of his sidearm and SMG, while his omnitool is running its usual diagnostics. Satisfied, he starts turning when Shepard enters, and heads towards his locker.

Alenko wonders about the N7's loadout, the two pistols, and the sniper rifle. A minute shrug, and he dismisses his concerns - the other is an N7 specialist, and he ought to know what's good for him. And, being an honest man, Shepard makes him uncomfortable; not precisely afraid, but very much aware both of the operative himself, and his own mortality. As Shepard passes by him, heading for a quick word with the turian and Anderson, Alenko feels cold.

The lieutenant personally checks his marines, ensuring that all are ready, knowing that he'll find no faults. A nod here, a pat on the shoulder there, a word or two there - simple routine, for appearances as much as for morale. His mind does it by route, allowing him to catch snippets from the conversation of Shepard, Anderson, and Nihlus. Something about the Precursor Beacon, but the words are hushed, hurried. Jeff's voice from the intercom, relaying information for the drop. What about that huge ship he's seen on the sensors? A mental shrug - if it's not gone and notices them, well, it's not like the Normandy is built for soaking damage. Either Jeff gets to prove his skills, or it will be a short tour.

The ship is in the atmosphere, hovering. The ramp opens, Nihlus says something, then drops, the jetpack of his armor igniting, then he's lost to Alenko's sight. Maybe a minute later, it's their turn to drop, and Alenko follows Shepard when the operative drops from the Normandy.

 **Eden Prime**

A nice world, a veritable paradise - Alenko has heard Jenkins tell about the planet. Even if he's talking about his birthplace, he's got a point, the vista is nice. Too bad about the half-melted wreck of an arcology building, the smoke curling from numerous places where, he assumes, the local forces made a stand. Shepard is leading them towards the excavation, where the Beacon should be located, along with - Alenko hopes - its defenders.

Jenkins is on point, the commander wanting to use his knowledge of local terrain to guide them on the shortest route. The quiet and silence does not really calm Alenko; something will soon go awry, he feels, senses going as high as possible.

The marines are crossing a field towards the digsite, when it happens. Shepard's voice cuts into the silence, ordering them to scatter, to find cover. The operative moves, his sniper rifle flashing towards the treeline. Alenko catches sight of some kind of drones, sees the approaching trail of a rocket...then it explodes midway above the field, shot from the air. He dives for cover, and realizes that Jenkins will not be able to follow suit in time - he was too eager, went too far ahead, and the rocket drone is not alone, its companions hover into view, miniguns spooling up, preparing to rip the corporal to shreds.

 _No you won't!_ Alenko's hand glows blue, and Jenkins is thrown aside, bellowing from pain as his leg is shredded, his kinetic shield barely slowing down the projectiles. The corporal's rifle sprays the treeline on full auto - more of a reflexive panic fire than a proper suppression, but at least he's alive for the moment.

The marines hammer the drones, and one explodes as its shields are overwhelmed. The rocket drone is next, as Shepard places two shots into it. _Four more, and most of us are in cover. Good._ A wave of Kaidan's blue-lit hand smashes a drone into the ground, as its partner saws through Laflamme and the rock behind which he was hiding. _Shit!_ Quick check on the HUD - Laflamme is still alive, barely. _Thank God for automated medigel-dispensers!_ The drones speed up, miniguns spinning faster, spitting more and more ordnance towards their position, evading most of the return fire from the marines.

A resounding boom from Shepard's direction - his oversized Executioner explodes a drone that ventured close enough. The operative then _moves_ , strafing towards the remaining two enemies, his sniper rifle and Executioner maglocked to his armor, his lighter pistol firing in short bursts. The drones focus on him, shots hitting his barrier, the ground around him - Alenko is sure the operative would not survive more than two, maybe three seconds. _Still, that's enough time._ One drone stops to get a better firing solution - half a second, no more, and it explodes as Lowe, Dubyansky and Chase hit it simultaneously. The other is knocked down with a flash of Alenko's omnitool, then it too explodes as Shepard puts a shot into it.

"Draven! You and Crosby stay here with Laflamme and Jenkins, wait for evac!" Kaidan orders, motioning towards the wounded.

"No, Lietenant. We go on. Jenkins here can take care of himself and Laflamme. Marines, on me." Alenko wants to throttle the operative, but really, he shouldn't be surprised - this _is_ the Butcher, after all. He nods stiffly, and motions his marines to advance, feeling the same cold shiver as on the staging deck.

As they emerge from the small copse of trees to the slope leading towards the digsite, all marines flinch as with a bone-shaking bass sound, an immense black ship looms in the distance, climbing towards space.

 **Interlude - Spectres, interrupted**

Anger warred with disbelief in the mind of Nihlus Kryik, as he took in the scene - ruined buildings, a half-melted arcology dome, burnt-out tanks and APCs where humans made their stand, and corpses. Dead bodies did not bother him, he saw (and created) his fair share of them - he has seen people shot full of holes, bodies exploded when hit by explosive rounds of snipers, burnt by flames, torn apart with biotics or brute strength, but this was new in several ways. Some corpses looked as if the attackers simply flayed them with a narrow, focused biotic field, pulling vital organs from the bodies, and evaporating it. Others were impaled on mechanical spikes, looking like desiccated mummies whereas they could not have been there for more than an hour or two.

The humans, naturally, did not simply allow the unknown assailants to massacre them, not that Nihlus was surprised by that. The enemy appeared to be some kind of cyborgs, a durable outer exoskeleton underlined with high-quality synthetic muscles, and their look (bipedal, flexible neck, face consisting of a single eye) bothered Nihlus; they seemed familiar but he could not place them. As he stalked further towards the spaceport and the half-melted arcology building next to it, the VI of his armor managed to answer his query - but he had to ignore it, when his motion tracker signalled movement from behind.

The Spectre flexed his legs, and with an effort and a very short burst from his jetpack, he landed on the third floor of a burnt-out building on the opposite side. A quick command engaged his cloaking module, and the turian vanished from sight.

A dozen creatures shuffled into view - desiccated, moaning husks, their eyes and veins glowing with a cold blue light, their shambling gait deceptively fast, and closing on his previous location. For maybe half a minute, the creatures milled around, confused, then as one turned towards the spaceport and shambled off.

Nihlus checked his armor's cam, ensuring that it was still recording - then headed quickly back to check the spikes, an oft-used admonition of his mentor and friend rattling in his brain.

Nodding in grim satisfaction at his find, he too set off towards the spaceport, taking care of cloaking himself properly, after sending a short databurst to the Normandy.

* * *

Saren Arterius was not having a good day. The spirits-be-damned humans reacted quicker than he hoped and had far more forces stationed on-planet than his sources indicated. Nevertheless, with the firepower of his flagship, it was just a matter of burning the rats out from strongpoint after strongpoint, then taking apart the broken forces. _Some soldiers. Turians would never break like that. We did not break on Shanxi, not even when_...

Something alerted his senses. A short burst of power on-planet - by no means significant, and definitely not long-lived. Still, better to have it investigated. With a nod and a short transmission, a company of his troops started moving towards the source of the burst. Another alerted his rearguard at the digsite.

The work done, Saren turned towards the humans held before him, drinking in their terror as his cold blue gaze settled on them. The red-headed female was not really important, but the other, the male with the receding hair may have seen something. The Spectre's left hand closed around the male's throat, lifting him closer, void-blue gaze boring into muddy brown. Blood started seeping from under the turian's claws, as microscopic metallic tendrils invaded the human's body, speeding towards his brain, burrowing into his spine.

The male convulsed, eyes going white, blood running from eyes, mouth, ears, muscles spasming as his brain reacted to Saren's search for information. The Spectre focused inwards for a fraction of a second, confirming his deduction. No, he did not get anything coherent from the Beacon. _Worst case, the idiot humans will consider him an insane wreck. Still, just to be cautious._

Saren dropped the male, then drew his pistol and fired twice, melting the faces of both humans. Satisfied, he turned towards his ship, when his senses warned him of a minuscule, out-of-place heat-haze.

The Spectre had extremely fine-tuned reflexes, boosted by experience, armor, and implants - thus the shot fired hit his deployed omnishield. The shield held for maybe a fraction of a second, then collapsed. The kinetic barrier was next, the disruptor round bringing it down with a blue crackle before cracking his helmet. Saren was already moving, ducking low, knowing that next round was likely on the way already. He was almost fast enough. The AP round hit his shoulder, breaking his armor, his dermal plates, his shoulder joint.

The Spectre's troops moved and fired as one, saturating the location of the shooter with mechanical precision, while Saren was moving towards his ship, transmitting orders into his omnitool. The husks fanned out, searching for prey.

Then a third round, fired from higher up, hit Saren's helmet, and the Spectre collapsed.

 **Eden Prime, archeological dig site**

Ashley coughs, the smoke overwhelming the filters of her armor; not that the seals are in prime condition any longer. Her hands still hurt, blood dripping from the burnt skin where her fingers clench her rifle. Briefly, she wonders how it could have gone so suddenly from peaceful garrison duty to fighting for survival, then her world dissolves into heat, screams and pain once again, before it goes black.

Her eyes open as her armor does its duty and injects the cocktail of combat stims into her bloodstream. _At least that still works._ A quick look around, to take in her surroundings. The picture is not pretty - their last remaining tank is a smoldering wreck _\- at least it took out three walkers -_ , most of the company is dead or too wounded to even stay conscious. Maybe a score of her marines are still fighting, but it is just defiance - though they have cover, they don't really have anything to counter the huge walker that fried their tank. Luckily, it has taken damage, and anyway, the ROF of its cannon is slow as hell.

Ashley rolls over, looking for a weapon, anything to shoot with. She spots an M-100 lying nearby, the previous owner an unrecognizable lump of molten flesh and armor. She fights down nausea, grabs the gun, and aims toward the incoming mechs, waiting for a clear shot.

A huge mech lumbers into view, towering head and shoulders over the basic infantry units, a multi-barreled gun in its hands, a smaller drone hovering at its shoulder that flashes with blue light whenever a nearby mech is hit by her marines. She switches the fire selector, struggles to kneel, her aim steady despite the pain. A press of the trigger sends four grenades towards the hulking mech, then the drum clicks empty, her eyes tracking her shots.

First one, deflected by a red hexagonal barrier that shatters on impact. Second, hits the drone, reducing it to a smoldering wreck. Third, meets and drops the kinetic barrier with a shower of sparks. Fourth, rips away the mech's right arm, its gun, more than half of its torso. The thing staggers, then falls.

She notices it. The other platforms in the vicinity slow down for a few seconds - she's not sure if she would have noticed it if not for the hyperawareness of combat and the stims in her blood. Still, it's enough to make her yell instructions to her men, redirecting their fire. _Maybe we can take a few more of them with us._ A quick check of her HUD confirms that the enemy is barely forty-fifty mechs, only three of them being big hulks. And the walker, whose cannon should be recharged any second now. _Yeah, child's play._

As the mechs move closer, covering each other with precision fire and those annoying beehive barriers, her HUD displays a short message, and she again barks orders, her marines falling back, no longer trying to bring down enemies but focusing on suppressive fire and survival.

The walker's cannon starts to glow and crackle with that tell-tale sick green light, and she tenses as the thing's barrier flares up for a microsecond, then collapses as a blue biotic field surrounds it. The walker starts turning, as do about half the mechs, and she hates but appreciates the speed and precision of their reaction.

Still, the mechs are too slow. The biotic field had not even died down when a rocket explodes against its hull, staggering it. Its cannon fires, the green lightning carving a deep furrow into the ground up the slope, failing to hit anyone up there. Another rocket impact - obviously someone is a very fast hand with the ML-77 up there. A hulk explodes as three grenades impact it, while half-dozen smaller mechs are cut down with precision bursts from the slope. Another hulk falls, a high-powered round exploding the flashlight of its head. The confusion among the mechs is visible, their reaction slows. Not much, but against Alliance marines, it's more than enough.

Up the slope, figures are loping closer and closer - two small fireteams, advancing with textbook perfect movement, firing and exploding mechs...and with less than textbook precision, a madman dashes down, maglocking his sniper rifle to his back, his oversized handcannon unfolding as he takes aim…

She blinks, as the madman _moves_ , gracefully dodging and getting ever closer to the mechs, his barriers flaring with blue light. Another blink, and he's among the mechs. That oversized cannon booms, and a mech simply vanishes from the chest up. The man's other hand lights up with the orange glow of an omniblade - _seriously, who uses those?_ \- and another mech falls, bisected from shoulder to hip. The N7 operative - _holy shit, what's one of them doing here?_ \- closes with the last hulk.

A beehive barrier stops the shot of the handcannon and checks the operative for maybe a fraction of a second. Enough for the hulk to bring its weapon to bear, and Ashley feels cold, her world slowing down, preparing to witness the death of their would-be rescuer. The N7 spins, impossibly fast, his omniblade cutting apart the hulk's minigun. A blue flare of a kick to the thing's chest sends it staggering back, another flash of the omniblade cuts its leg from under it, then the handcannon is pressed to the hulk's head, a boom…

She realizes the fight, for the moment is over, her battered and bloody marines scrambling to help the wounded. She makes her way towards the N7, who's talking with a staff lieutenant, probably the commander of the rescueing marines. As she steps closer, they turn as one to regard her, she feels a warm brown and a cold gold-flecked gaze settle on her.

 **Eden Prime, spaceport**

The rail transport is fast, but offers little cover. Alenko hopes that the attackers - the geth, he reminds himself on Shepard's impromptu briefing at the tramway station - have not left many forces behind. _Not that I can see anything short of those walkers stop Shepard. Seriously, how much hardware do they stick in them when reaching N7?_ He grins, showing teeth, as his mind replays the short and brutal disposal of the geth platoon at the tramway - the geth had absolutely no chance, especially after their cover was demolished by Crosby and Negulesco. Out in the semi-open space, it just took a few sniper shots to kill the hulks, then the two dedicated fireteams simply overwhelmed the remaining few with assault rifles.

Their car slows, and Alenko focuses ahead, ignoring the distracting view of the lieutenant Shepard insisted on bringing along.

"Alenko, speed this thing up" Shepard hisses, motioning towards the control panel, his hands going to his rifle. "Marines, get ready." The operative's eyes narrow behind his faceplate, checking something, then the Butcher flashes a red, mad grin.

Kaidan fiddles with the controls, taking a few moments to override the safety settings and regulations, accelerating the car toward the station where, as his HUD informs him, at least a dozen geth await.

"Marines, brace for impact!" Ashley shouts from beside him. The railcar plows into the station, overrunning a geth hulk, and pasting another against the wall. A few marines fall, one of the 212's survivors groaning as he cradles his broken arm. Ashley nods at another of her marines to stay with the man, and then they are moving, assault rifle fire mowing down the few remaining geth in the station.

Kaidan's omnitool chimes, and his blood goes cold as he checks the warning on his HUD.

"Shepard, rad-warning! Marines, check seals!" Amid a chorus of muffled curses and frantic activity, Kaidan sees Shepard check something on his omnitool, the operative's face going a shade or two paler, blood trickling from the corner of his eye.

"Alenko, take a fireteam, it seems the geth left some presents for us. Locate and disarm them." Shepard's voice is calm, even, cold. "Ashley, you and the rest of the marines, with me."

Kaidan nods, and motions for Corporal Chase to join him. As he starts scanning for the bombs, he just hopes that the corporal's marines can handle the possible stragglers, and that his own skills are up to the job.

Ashley follows Shepard, her rifle covering the blind spots of the operative stalking on point, her brain still processing the double giddiness of being alive, and meeting a full N7 soldier. Then comes a cold dose of realism - she may very well die still, and the N7 in question is the freaking Butcher, who, while definitely effective, is surely a certified madman. A quick check on her marines calms her - battered and bleeding they may be, but all of them are calm and collected, ready for whatever the flashlight-heads have in store for them.

The spaceport buildings seem abandoned - no lifesigns, no bodies, nothing, apart from numerous weird tripods, which she's sure were not there before. Sure, there are signs of battle, she can see that while the defenders may have been caught by surprise, they did not just lay down and die. The guard posts are partially charred, riddled with mass accelerator fire and impact craters where something solid and heavy hit them. She notes the number of destroyed geth with grim satisfaction, eyes and armor sensors looking for signs where the heavy armor detailed to the spaceport fought, and frowns when she finds none.

Realization hits. Of course there are no signs - apart from the fact that their hangar is a melted, burnt-out ruin, along with the buildings that stood near it. Cold-blooded, overwhelming firepower, applied precisely, effectively. _Just like a machine - or a turian. Grandfather told me about similar attacks on Shanxi._ Her blood starts to boil with rage.

Shepard signals for stop, scans for something, head tilted as if listening.

"Nihlus, you around?"

"Yes" the flanging voice from above almost causes a rifle barrage, but discipline prevails. Ashley sees a green-eyed spiky bastard perched on a floor above, his bulky powered armor clearly having seen better days - parts of it are melted, and there are numerous holes in it. _But...where's the blood? With an armor shot up that much, he should be bleeding to death._

Nihlus drops down, a sputtering mass effect field ensuring a painless, if not so impressive landing.

"Commander, good to see you made it. Captain Anderson informed me that the black ship left the system, apparently without detecting the Normandy. Unfortunately, the person responsible for this atrocity managed to get aboard."

"The Beacon is still dead ahead, right?" Shepard's voice gurgles, just a bit. Ashley frowns. _That sounded like someone swallowing fluid, but he's not injured; well, not that injured…_

"At the landing pad, seems to have been prepared for transport. Our enemy may have decided to rescue his own life rather than attain his apparent objective." Nihlus's harmonics drip with hate and anger, and something Ashley can't quite place - disappointment maybe? _Surely not, not even a turian could be that callously dismissive, could he?_

Shepard turns toward the Spectre, his question obvious even though unvoiced.

"Later, commander. I want to get that Beacon and leave before any further complications arise." It galls Ashley that she has to agree with the turian - the day has been more than exciting enough already. The operative nods, motions forward, taking again point along with the Spectre, who maglocks his rifle and unfolds a shotgun.

The small team stalks forward, sensors and senses tracking for movement, heat, signs of danger. The silence is oppressive, as they reach the landing field of the spaceport, and Ashley's eyes are drawn to the Beacon across the sizable, corpse-filled plaza. _Huh, something seems different, what are those squiggly…_ Then there's no more time to think, as every motion tracker and detector goes berserk.

Moans fill the plaza, as the corpses shuffle to their feet and charge towards them, eyes and veins glowing with a cold blue light, while rubble is pelting down on the marines as geth unfold from under the wreckage, from within storage crates, the human-sized robots raining fire on them from two directions, along with a hulking brute on each side. Behind the husks, a walker unfolds from behind a burnt-out Mako, and a huge bipedal platform, easily a meter taller than her stands and aims a freaking huge cannon at them, its muzzle glowing with baleful, green light...

The marines scatter as best as they can, one of them cut down in an instant, three others are smeared across the plaza as the green lightning of the cannon hits. The husks are on them, and it's all a cascade of images across Ashley's senses, the plaza dissolving into a mayhem of screams, weapon fire, explosions, and blood.

Nihlus' jetpack flares as the turian speeds toward a hulk above them, evading most of its fire, the smaller geth rounds lighting up then collapsing his barrier, but he's among them, shotgun booming, making the hulk stagger. The Spectre's omnitool flashes, and blue lightning crackles over maybe half a dozen geths, frying their circuits, felling them.

Ashley's rifle stitches across three husks running at her, a kick snaps the fourth's leg, a stomp finishes it. A quick burst explodes a geth whose fire almost depletes her barrier. She caves in a husk's chest with her rifle butt, kicking away another attempting to pin her legs, elbow cracking the skull of the one trying to catch her arm.

A scream of painful rage, then an explosion to her left flings pieces of human and husks around, as one of her marines - _Frost, maybe?_ \- drops a grenade at his feet when overwhelmed, and his ammo packs cook off. Another is torn apart after a geth burst takes down his shields. Crowe laughs maniacally as he guns down half a dozen husks trying to get him, then switches aim to the geth above, killing two. The third drops his barrier then slumps as Dietrich shoots it in the head, just to see Crowe go down when a hulk's green lightning strips away his armor, his flesh, his organs.

Shepard dashes forward, omniblade unfolding, cutting apart husks as he closes with the walker, his smaller pistol spitting bursts of disruptor rounds to crack its shield. The huge geth aims its second burst at him, but the operative manages to evade it, the green lightning vaporizing half-dozen husks. Shepard's omnitool flares blue, trying to overload the walker's weakened shield. It crackles, then collapses as another burst of disrupter rounds hits it, the walker's cannon erupting with green light.

Nihlus kicks down a geth, then again engages his jetpack to evade the hulk's shot, only for the jetpack to sputter out. Still the Spectre manages to dodge, the shot only vaporizing his left arm. He almost loses it then and there, the shock almost overwhelming his training, his will, implants, and combat stims. Almost. A flick of his clawed finger sets his shotgun's fire mode, and the gun booms, turning the the hulk into a mess of metallic flakes and vapor from the waist up. A crackle of blue static, and Nihlus fades from the few remaining geth in the vicinity.

Ashley yells, her faceplate cracking as she headbutts the husk holding her down, breaking its face, putting it down, then sending a burst into a geth, shutting it down for good. Dietrich is still behind her, she hears the other woman's gun firing on full auto, then falls forward as green light flashes behind her, and something tangles her legs. She goes down, turning as she falls, her finger switching the rifle on full auto, and sending a long burst into the hulk that killed Dietrich. The robot's shields hold up for a second, then another, before collapsing, her shots stitching across its chest and head, putting it down.

Shepard ducks under the walker's legs, omniblade cutting into it, staggering the colossus. A split-second warning, then he _moves_ , rolling out from below the thing as it folds down, trying to crush him. The geth giant is there, and there's no time to think, to plan, to _calculate_. A mechanical fist catches his side, cracking ribs, his kick crushes the elbow joint. The thing's cannon flares, the operative's last-second kick sending the discharge overhead. Shepard's pistol barks in staccato bursts, shots pinging off the behemoth's armor. The geth flares blue, and Shepard's muscles spasm for a second, his pistol falling from his hand as his armor struggles to earth the charge, to keep it from frying him. A kick to the kneejoint staggers the behemoth, long enough for the operative to grab his other gun. The boom of the handcannon is met by the crackle of a beehive barrier, and then Shepard is tottering back as the behemoth's mangled arm hits him, the robot's good hand raising its cannon, the muzzle and the underslung blade flaring with green light... then Shepard again _moves_ , hoarfrost spreading around them, evaporating in an instant as he rolls to the side, grabbing the discarded pistol, bringing up both guns, and firing at the behemoth's head, exploding it.

The geth are, again, slowed for maybe a second, one and a half at most. Spunkmeyer hefts his launcher, and sends three rockets into the walker, the mech erupting in flames, before its killer is disarmed by husks, who are then gunned apart by Ashley, Nihlus, and the few surviving marines, who then dispatch the half-dozen geth remaining.

Silence.

Ashley takes stock. Everyone is bleeding, and more than half of her platoon are dead. The Beacon is still there, and she could swear she saw those weird lines move...and when did that loathsome, bonelike thing grow so huge, as if she was standing at its feet...she can almost make out the whispers, discern the shapes within, the iridescent, unnameable colors…

Blue flash, weightlessness, a crash, PAIN…

Nihlus sees the female lieutenant step closer to the Beacon, which seems to pulse with some inner light, the human stepping again closer, as Nihlus opens his mouth to warn her, his hand raising his gun, aiming at her leg...then she's enfolded in a blue mass effect field, and thrown aside, Shepard lowering his hand, blue eezo-light fading. The operative's helmet is discarded, Nihlus can see blood trickling down the human's face and neck, from his eyes, ears, mouth…

Shepard steps closer to the pulsing Beacon, and the bone-white, black-limned column erupts in unnameable colors, the shockwave flinging people away, Shepard hovering in the air, blood streaming from his mouth. The human is saying something, but Nihlus cannot understand the words, the gibberish sounds scratching at the inside of his eyes, his brain, shadows and shapes flitting across the edge of his vision, feels as if something was thinning, close to breaking. The human's mouth moves, Nihlus cannot hear the sounds, but feels a pressure building, then there's a flash of molten gold, and Shepard falls, just as the Beacon's top half explodes.

* * *

 _Pain, overwhelming senses, mechanical tendrils burrowing into flesh, seeking, altering, replacing - something is leaking away, cannot be defined, only felt, colors bleaching away, dulling, becoming simpler. Beware them, do not turn to them!_

 _Metal lives, metal cannot be trusted, metal will betray, metal will CONSUME!_

 _Slender shapes examine, their voices melodious, protective, transmitting their warning, their intent callous, selfish, calculating - disregarded, discarded. Dreams cannot be trusted, should not be trusted._

 _Vast presences contemplate with glacial patience, pondering the message of the Different Ones, measuring their worth, their intent, dismissing their clarity, ridiculing the warning._

 _The abyss yawns, a black gulf of time, stretching away, so far away, webbed with a crystalline lattice of intent and message. A vortex spreads, incomprehensibly wide, spanning worlds, spanning systems, clusters…_

 _Coldly beautiful, hauntingly melodious, the siren song of creation echoes from the gulf across the vortex, unheeded, as it all ends in fire, immense shapes descending from above, from outside, reaching down, consuming, gorging themselves, closing off something, silencing the melodies, imprisoning the colors…_

Shepard's training takes over, his senses registering the riot of colors erupting within the Beacon, his mouth forms words in a language forgotten by history, rediscovered in ice, in darkness, in space. He knows what's coming, knows how to stop it, but the chances are not good. _Why did_ _ **she**_ _have to be here? Why did they not realize_ _ **what**_ _she is earlier?_ Throat raw, he intones the words, unheard by others, shadows flinching away, blood streaming down his face, trickling from his pores. He can feel veins bursting in his lungs and throat, but the training is good, helps him focus his will. _Just a few more…._

And it all ends, in golden fire.

 **Interlude - Career in ruins**

Nova Yekaterinburg was very much not like the places her race typically enjoyed - the dry heat, the dust, the dour (or worse, quite lecherous) humans were not really things that would appeal to typical asari, but Liara T'Soni has resigned herself to be somewhat of an outcast among her kind. To her, Therum itself seemed a cross between an immense playground, paradise, and a smorgasboard of relics waiting to be discovered.

She did not really hope that the University of Serrice would approve her latest funding request - too many of the board took a dim view of the upstart in their circles, challenging the stable, time-honored theories (dare one say, facts) about the venerable Precursors, hiding from any possible retribution behind her birthright and the Matriarch that spawned her. She underestimated them, severely. Her funding request was, as expected, denied - the same as her requests to the Universities of Mannovai and Talis Fia.

Explanations were offered, of course, citing various financial limitations, concerns about access and handling of recovered artifacts, and so forth. Still, the undertone was there, she was no longer welcome in the scientific circles of asari archeologists. Or maybe her mother did something to annoy the opinions of the Republics, and Benezia's antagonists chose to use her to deliver such a petty retort?

All that speculation was rendered moot when she a small, unremarkable institute on Earth contacted her, promising funds if she'd consider _leading_ an expedition to Therum - a world she always considered working on due to the number of Precursor ruins, but was always discarding due to the rumors of the human companies already pilfering and outright destroying most of those landmarks.

Liara did not deliberate for long - though she did know only two of the scientists of the team: Amar Vass from Aegohr, and Maran Cal from Talis Fia. The other three were humans, all from Earth itself: Lilian Anfield, Frank Armitage, and Wilhelm Keel. Her quick research found only a few publications of the humans, but hinted at their involvement in Alliance-level work.

Her suspicions about a government sponsorship were confirmed when the expedition assembled on Bekenstein. The amount and quality of sensory, recording, and storage equipment, the financial support for herself and the other scientists, the obvious competence of the rather numerous protection detail - all were well beyond what a small educational institute like the University of Kathmandu could conceivably cover.

Despite some initial misgivings, Liara soon lost herself in the everyday joy of her work, her vocation - and dismissed the snide comments and messages from asari scholars, the crude, predictable offers from the local humans (when she wandered into Nova Yekaterinburg without much of an overt escort). She even, to her amazement, managed to forget the leader of that protective detail.

A part of her brain was intrigued by the man, surely - a very small part, as the man treated the aliens in their group with very thinly-veiled contempt, and the human scientists rated only slightly better manners from the stocky Asiatic (if her research was correct) man. He kept mostly to himself, rarely socializing even with his subordinates, who spoke highly of the man's skills and achievements, but seemed to share the instinctive dislike and unease the man seemed to exude. At times when Liara had to endure close proximity to him during meetings, the urge to vomit, to shower and scrub herself raw was almost overwhelming. And going by the reactions of her peers, she was not alone.

Liara was very happy when the team moved to Mount Kondratiev, and found that the Precursor (specifically, Prothean) ruins there were still more or less intact, being located in a dormant volcano kept most of the looters away, thus their team was likely to find at least some artifact. They set up camp at the foot of the mountain, spent a few workdays setting up the necessary seismic sensors and other security equipment, discussed how best to approach the complex under the mountain, started digging and shoring up the access tunnels, all under the watchful, unsettling, making-their-skin-crawl gaze of Kai Leng.

* * *

They come in the dark, naturally - products of nightmares out of time always do. The proximity alarms blare as the automated turrets start tracking incoming signals, blue-white beams of incandescent light illuminating the closing bipedal mechanoids, slicing through their barriers, leaving twitching, cauterized parts on the ground.

Green lightning arcs answer from the larger mechs, stripping away barriers, armor, metal and flesh, flaying techs and soldiers alike. Lasers track across the rocky vista, melting any attacker slow to react, then explode themselves as the incoming fire overwhelms the barriers of the turrets. The soldiers protecting the camp focus fire on the larger attackers, grenades, rockets, and sniper rifle fire grinding away kinetic and beehive barriers, melting armor, destroying robots. Despite the sudden change from peaceful, routine nighttime to fight for survival, Liara considers their chances better than even - thanks to their unsettling bodyguard.

Confidence is shattered when half-dozen blue-limned brutes slam into the camp, the impacts flinging turret parts and soldiers in the air, breaking bones, stilling turrets, their triumphant howling laughter resonating in the bones of the survivors. Liara screams, blue fire outlining her figure, and the krogan are held fast, for a second, before a disruptor round hits her arm, breaking the bone, flinging her away, the stasis field collapsing with her concentration gone.

Then Kai Leng is among the krogan, his shotgun booming, taking off the head of a brute, a blade shimmering in his right hand - _extending from his fist?_ -, removing a krogan's arm along with its shotgun, the reverse stroke bisecting the reptile. The third reacts quickly enough to raise his barrier and shield, wide maw grinning as his huge shotgun is coming up to paste Leng...who ducks impossibly low, the move impossibly fluid, as if the security chief was boneless, then the sword cuts through barrier, shield, and krogan equally, bisecting the figure from groin to head. A fourth erupts in blue light, his biotics crackling, arm outstretched to lift and fling the human away, before an explosion removes his top half, as Leng's thrown grenade hits him. The fifth charges, the human barely dodging, his answering swordstrike opening the krogan's chest. The brute's rageful scream threatens to overwhelm Liara's ears, as the krogan's shotgun fires, Leng almost dodging the spike, blood spraying from his side.

He's at Liara's side a moment later, the asari shuddering, swallowing back bile as Leng's left hand closes around her healthy arm, yanking her to her feet, tossing her towards the mountain tunnel. She runs, blue light starting to outline her form as she gathers her power. Leng is behind her when they reach the tunnel, and so are maybe half-dozen guards. Behind and below them, the two krogans and the robots finish the last survivors, some larger walking mechs joining the horde, starting towards them.

Leng smiles, baring teeth, unclasping something from his neck, and Liara's not the only one who shudders in revulsion, bile rising in her throat.

"Doctor, get inside. If they get past us, you should try your luck with that barrier field. I believe we managed to send out a distress signal before the mechs got the communications building. Go."

Liara blinks, then moves to take a pistol from a soldier.

"I may be able to help a bit, before...before…"

Leng glances toward the approaching machines, eyes flitting across cover opportunities, measuring distances, calculating angles.

"Fine, stay until they reach that line of boulders. When they get there, you are to go inside, and seal up. Understood, doctor?"

"Yes."

Leng nods, his men already in cover, weapons tracking future targets.

"Those big-ass walkers will be a problem, Kai." a soldier notes, his boss nodding in acknowledgement.

Liara's lips peel back in a sharklike grin, blue light limning her hands, her arms, her whole body, sharper, more incandescent than ever before, her eyes haemorrhaging, blood dripping from her aural cavities as she holds back the power, building it up ever more, then releasing it with a shout and a strike.

Leng's eyebrow climbs as two of the walkers are lifted up limned in blue, creaking, folding up, smaller and smaller still, explosions erupting from the ever-decreasing mechs, then the asari's black hole explodes, flinging shards of torn mechs across the approaching robots.

"Not bad, for an amateur, Doctor." he says to the tottering asari, then flings the alien into the tunnel, closing the door with a gesture.

The last Liara hears before she's swallowed in darkness is Leng's amplified roar.

"Come on, you fucking weaklings! Show me what passes for fury among your misbegotten kind!"


	2. Codex - Timeline

**A/N:** First off, thanks for the reviews and reading, nice to know that you guys are giving this a chance. Few things as clarification/explanation, in case you don't want to head over to spacebattles:

1) I felt that warp influence had to be handwaved away, for ME elements to stand even a chance for evolving and having a day in the limelight. Planned post-ME3 timeline will fix that, restoring "proper" canon!40k conditions.

2) eldar had to be handwaved away for the time being, as I felt otherwise they would steamroll over the Reapers and ME canon (with tech like Talismans of Vaul and psychic powers), rendering any potential crossover totally moot. They are around, and planned endgame of the post-ME3 timeline of the story is to get them back to their canon!40k status as dominant galactic presence.

3) Necrons. Canon!40k necrons, which I consider mostly associated with the Deceiver and the Nightbringer are still asleep. The Void Dragon is on Mars, nursing a headache from the incident with the princess, the lance, and the knight. The Outsider is, well, in dark space ;) Their influence is, well - consider some parallels with a certain hypertech omnicidal ME faction.

4) Orks are around, but they don't have Waagh! energy in the usual amounts, so no Weirdboyz and extremely few Warbosses.

5) Chaos. The three Elder Warp Gods are around since the War in Heaven, but their influence and interest in the materium is minuscule for the time being, as there are extremely few psychics running around.

 **Codex – Timeline (excerpt)**

59,000,000 BCE – Earliest findings of galaxy-wide starfaring civilization, in the form of similarly constructed black dolmens and bone-like arches scattered in numerous star systems. Speculated home regions of this civilization include the Shrike Abyssal and the Nubian Expanse.

40-20,000,000 BCE – Unknown spacefaring civilization flourishes on the planet Etamis. The planet is thought to have been bombarded from orbit by another species.

37,000,000 BCE – The Great Rift Valley is formed on the planet Klendagon.

2,700,000 BCE – Unknown civilization on Carcosa is wiped out, speculated to be caused by runaway greenhouse effect.

300,000 BCE (estimated) – Unknown civilization in the Zelene system is wiped out in an unknown cataclysm, likely war with another species.

125,000 BCE – Two precursor races (one of them is thought to be the inusannon) battle above the planet Eingana. The aftermath of the battle leaves Eingana littered with the debris of hundreds of starships, resulting in widespread eezo contamination on the planet.

68,000 BCE – Prothean civilization achieves spaceflight. Over the next millennia, their civilization expands, culminating in the building of the Citadel as the seat of their galactic government.

54,000 – First archeological evidence of primitive asari.

53,000 – First archeological evidence of primitive salarians.

48,000 BCE – Collapse of the Prothean civilization. Evidence suggests both internal and external conflicts.

44,000 BCE – Krogan civilization emerges on Tuchanka.

13,000 BCE – Turian civilization emerges on Palaven.

12,500 BCE - Human civilization emerges on Earth

1900 BCE – Collapse of the krogan civilization due to nuclear war. Tuchanka becomes an irradiated wasteland.

580 BCE – Asari discover the Citadel.

520 BCE – Salarians discover the Citadel.

500 BCE – 0 CE – Founding of the Citadel Council. Numerous other races are granted an embassy, but rulership of the Citadel Council rests firmly with the asari and salarians. Turian Unification Wars. Due to inability to communicate meaningfully, krork species declared dangerous, and Council races are allowed (even required) to cleanse their would-be colonies from krork infestation, wherever the warlike species is found.

1 CE – 300 CE – Rachni Wars. Aggressively expanding arachnoid species surges out from the galactic east from behind previously unused mass relays, overwhelming Citadel forces with superior numbers and coordination. Salarian scientists propose uplifting krogans specifically for the war, and future induction into the Council. Uplifted krogan manage to eradicate the Rachni. Krogan begin expanding from Tuchanka, first capitalizing on goodwill due to their efforts, later using intimidation and brute force.

700 CE – 800 CE – Krogan Rebellions. Defeated by inviting the turians to the Council as full voting members and deployment of the genophage. As a result, krogan population is cut back, krogan colonies are deported back to Tuchanka. Citadel Conventions established. Spectre Corps established.

1600 CE – First sightings of the Collectors.

1895 CE – Geth War. Creation of the Migrant Fleet.

2069 CE – First human colony on Luna established.

2100 CE – First human colony on Mars established.

2140 CE – First human tests with FTL propulsion. The prototype ship vanishes after passing Neptune and engaging its FTL drive.

2148 CE – Mars Archives discovered. Establishment of research centers on the Promethei Planum and Noctis Labyrinthus.

2149 CE – Discovery of Charon Relay. Systems Alliance charter established. Colonization efforts begin.

2157-2158 CE – First Contact War/Relay 314 incident. Turians overreact to human science team opening a mass relay. Events quickly escalate into a shooting war. Fleet and surface actions culminate on and around Shanxi. Despite the turians having advantageous orbital positions, General Williams refuses to surrender and his forces dig in, managing to stalemate the turian ground forces. The escalating orbital bombardments threaten the viability of the colony world itself. The conflict is ended due to asari and salarian diplomacy negotiating an uneasy truce between the Hierarchy and the Systems Alliance.

2160 CE - Systems Alliance biotic training starts, using the expertise and contacts provided by Conatix Industries.

2162 CE - Arcturus Station, the new seat of the Systems Alliance is completed and taken into use.

2163 CE - The Dis Incident between the Batarian Hegemony and a Citadel science team.

2164 CE - Sirta Foundation scientists lead by Professor Munir Yildirim create medigel. Pinnacle Station established. N-level training established.

2165 CE- 2170 CE - Humans start colonizing and terraforming numerous worlds, mainly in the Attican Traverse and the Skyllian Verge.

2170 CE - Raid on Mindoir. First large-scale slaver attack on a human colony. Despite efforts, explicit Batarian Hegemony involvement could not be proven. Human colonization efforts stalled, focus is shifted to improve defenses on existing worlds. Citadel Council declines overt assistance and does not formally censure the Hegemony.

2170 CE - 2176 CE - Constant, ever-increasing skirmishing between various pirate and mercenary groups (suspected to be funded by the Batarian Hegemony) and the Systems Alliance forces in the Skyllian Verge. Fighting culminates in the Skyllian Blitz and the Battle of Elysium, where Alliance space and ground forces led by 1st Lieutenant Irina Pavlichenko smash a large pirate/mercenary contingent.

2176 CE - 2178 CE - Anhur Rebellions. Pro-slavery Na'Hesit faction supported by Batarian Hegemony finally loses when a joint Blue Sun and Eclipse mercenary team under Zaeed Massani massacres much of their command structure and demolishes vital communication nodes. Batarian officials claim the mercenaries were supported by Alliance N-level special forces.

2177 CE - An Alliance special forces team is lost when investigating a silenced science station on Akuze. A single survivor reports both the team and the station personnel were massacred by the largest recorded thresher maw attack.

2178 CE - Alliance Intelligence manages to locate a large pirate army on the moon of Torfan. Alliance Fifth Fleet is deployed in full against the base, with orders to neutralize the threat by any means necessary. Admiral Steven Hackett's fleet destroys the pirate navy, then Major Edward Kyle's marines supported by three N7 task groups demolish groundside pirate forces. Kyle is wounded in action, and his replacement, 2nd Lieutenant Alexander Shepard uses chemical and nuclear weapons to cleanse the remaining pirate strongpoint, disregarding civilian casualties.

2180 CE - Human-turian joint naval cooperation agreement signed, research begins on creating a new shipclass.

2183 CE - Systems Alliance ambassador Donnel Udina manages to convince the Citadel Council to evaluate a human candidate for the Spectre corps. First joint human-turian vessel, SSV Normandy enters service.

 **Codex - First Contact War (Δ EYES ONLY)**

2157 - Late June, a Systems Alliance science team including G. Rokobungi, S. Yi, and T. Weyland locates and starts the process of activating Relay 314. The science team was succesful, but the relay activation was noticed and investigated by a turian patrol fleet.

Ignoring standard Council protocols and disregarding the messages of the automated probes spotted by their sensors, the turian fleet commander opened fire on the human vessels, with only two cutters managing to disengage and flee.

The turians, tracking the FTL wake of the fleeing human ships, encounter elements of the Alliance Second Fleet stationed at the Shanxi-Theta relay. Data analysis shows that Commodore I. Rackham timed his opening salvo 1.5 seconds after transmitting a message to the turians demanding they stand down from pursuit and identify themselves.

The turian fleet was forced to retreat less than an hour into the engagement, as their kinetic barriers provided little resistance to the ship-based laser weaponry of the Alliance fleet. Commodore Rackham did not pursue and eliminate the turian fleet, for which decision he was later criticised and put on trial (acquitted).

For the next month, skirmishes erupted centering on the Shanxi-Theta relay, as turian patrols and reconnaisance vessels fought with the ships of the Second Fleet. Both sides were later formally rebuked for not pursuing non-military options at this point, opting instead to an ever-escalating armed conflict (see report on turians using the conflict as justification for concessions from the Council).

The conflict escalated in September when Desolas Arterius arrived with the Aephus Legion, including elements of the Armiger Legion. Using tactics relying heavily on superior maneuverability (see naval training manual on microjump calculations), the turian fleet managed to whittle away Commodore Rackham's task force, pushing him back towards Shanxi.

The actual Siege of Shanxi started three weeks later. The orbital installations and Task Force Rackham managed to deny turian orbital superiority over Shanxi, but could not prevent the turians from landing troops, including mechanized forces.

General J. Williams, the commander of the Shanxi Garrison attempted to destroy the turian troops at their landing site before they could properly reorganize and deploy. The attempt bought some time for Williams, mainly due to the fact that Desolas Arterius was wounded in action, but it cost General Williams a sizable part of his mobile forces.

Deprived of the possibility of a mobile warfare, General Williams decided to focus on defending the four primary arcologies of the planet, leaving the outlying settlements to their fate, gambling on the turians focusing their efforts on eliminating his forces. His rearguard, lead by Captain Tadius Ahern waged a successful guerilla campaign against Desolas' troops, slowing their advance long enough to finish setting up the defences of Shanxi-Primus through Shanxi-Quartus.

Desolas Arterius focused efforts on Shanxi-Tertius, as his intelligence reported that the human food production was centered there. A week of close-range artillery fire was needed to break into the arcology, where the defenders stalled the turians for 22 more days in pitched urban warfare, reducing the arcology itself to rubble.

Infuriated by the unexpectedly high losses, Desolas Arterius ordered his fleet elements to start orbital bombardment of human positions. Commodore Rackham's attempts at disrupting the turian efforts were repulsed, and in days, Shanxi-Secundus and Shanxi-Quartus were reduced to rubble, resulting in approximately 3.5 million casualties, most of them civilians (see documents on turian doctrine regarding the handling and determining of civilians in combat zones).

With loss of over 70% of orbital support, cut off from extra-system communications, and supplies stretched by the influx of refugees and survivors, General Williams ensured to make his final act memorable. He ordered Captain Ahern and a small mobile force to leave the arcology while his remaining forces staged diversionary attacks on the encircling turians. Ahern was supposed to lay low until the arrival of the relief forces, and, if safe, wage further guerilla warfare against the turians.

When Ahern reported the success of his brigade exfiltrating and losing the pursuing Armiger Legion forces, General Williams had the steadily weakened barriers dropped, inviting a full-scale turian attack, and invoked Fairfield Protocol on Shanxi-Primus. The resulting incursion wiped out the arcology along with over 90% of the surrounding turian army, forced the aliens to evacuate to avoid total losses when facing the incursion.

Commodore Rackham managed to end the incursion by having his fleet saturate the site with both laser batteries and bombardment from orbit, then when the incursion became unstable instead of contracting and dissipating, he steered his already damaged flagship on a collision course. The resulting tectonic movements and weather pattern changes claimed hundreds of thousands of lives on the planet.

Bitter irony, that two days later, asari diplomats arrived, representing the Council, offering reparations and terms for favorable peaceful settlement of the conflict.


	3. Chapter 2

**Citadel** **Lower Wards**

Urdnot Wrex felt mildly annoyed as he strode towards the access corridor his current appointment was supposed to be in. Associates of his employer were not usually known for being this stupid, but he mused sometimes there had to be exceptions. Lucky for him - at least such assignments were good for a laugh or two, the pay was good, and there were rarely complications. He felt his lips peel back in a sharklike grin as he saw the loosely-standing group of salarians and turians facing a lone quarian. _Well, this is going to be fun._

Wrex watched the lead turian say something to the quarian, then lean close, pawing at the suit of the smaller alien, who shook of his hand, then warbled something - the krogan's smile widened, becoming even more predatory as he saw the quarian girl slide something into her palm. _Time to go, things are about to get interesting - eh, there's only eight of them, still, it may be fun._

The krogan unlimbered his shotgun, his body blurred into blue light as he slammed into the lead turian, the impact pulping the spiky-headed bastard. Wrex' right hand fired his shotgun point-blank, smearing another turian on the corridor wall as his left hand lit up blue, the mass effect field throwing a salarian into a wall, cartilage and bones crunching, the small alien flopping down lifelessly. The krogan headbutted another salarian, feeling his boneplates crunch the skull of the not-so-nimble thug. His barrier crackled with blue as the remaining turian fired a full burst into it, then a salarian's omnitool lit his left side on fire. The answering boom of the shotgun obliterated the turian's upper body, the salarian was not quick enough to dodge when Wrex grabbed him, his fist breaking first the arm, then qith a swift motion, the neck.

Wrex stopped for a second, taking stock. _Huh, so she can somewhat take care of herself._ The remaining two thugs were down - one still twitching, his whole body smoking from the electric charge that fried his armor, his sensors, weapons, and flesh, while the other was slumping down with a knifehilt protruding from his eye. The quarian girl shivered and took a step back as the towering krogan's growling, menacing laughter seemed to shake the corridor.

"Easy there, little killer, no need to stab me in the eye" - for some reason, this did not seem to console the quarian girl too much. "Didn't your father teach you not to trust intelligence brokers, and always have backup ready for meetings like this?"

The quarian girl's posture was dejected, afraid, as she inched away from the scene and the hulking krogan who was methodically rifling through the dead thugs, collecting omnitools, datapads, credit chits.

"I...I thought...he said that the Broker would...that I would…" the warbling voice sounded just so young. Wrex sighed, motioning the girl closer.

"Yes, I know what that idiot Fist said to you. Consider this" - he motioned at the scene of carnage around them " both a lesson and an apology on behalf of the Broker. Now, I hear you got some interesting data that may tie into the newest uproar. Come along, quarian, let's take off before C-Sec gets here."

"My name's Tali'Zorah, you oversized turtle " apparently, her voice was not low enough, as the krogan again gave that deep, booming laugh, as she, somewhat reluctantly, followed the mercenary away from the access corridor, towards the Presidium.

 **Alliance Embassy**

Ambassador Donnel Udina was not a happy man. He spent too much time verbally sparring with the Council, and usually whenever he seemed to get the upper hand, his superiors from back home came up with something so mind-numbingly insane and shortsighted that it was all he could do to limit the damage. Still, if he was honest with himself, he would not trade it for anything - and his detractors back home would be surprised that it was not only for the money, influence, and spotlight he persisted. No, he felt that he owed the Alliance, to humanity itself that he gave his utmost in furthering their interests. And if sometimes that meant getting into pissing contests with powerful alien diplomats, well, he _did_ get paid well enough for that kind of shit.

"With all due respect Madam Councilor, the data already transmitted is more than enough for a condemnation. Do not even hint at attempting to sweep this under the rug - the pet butcher of the esteemed Councilor Sparatus slipped his leash, and used a fucking geth superdreadnought to melt a human garden world into slag!" the ambassador's voice rose while his hands fisted. "The casualty numbers are still coming in, but in a worst-case scenario, we are looking at another Shanxi, and again, perpetrated by a turian - and oh yes, not just any turian, but an Arterius to boot!"

"Ambassador, if you are quite finished?" Councilor Valern's low hiss cut through the building tirade. " The _preliminary_ databurst we received does indeed paint a dark picture, but it's by no means conclusive. We will wait for details, and if necessary, take steps to reign in Spectre Arterius."

"Reign him in? After what he's done, reign him in? Mark me well, Councilors, the Alliance will…"

"Enough, Ambassador." the turian Councilor's voice vibrated with barely suppressed fury. "Once we get the full situation report from Spectre Kryik and the Alliance personnel present, _we_ will take appropriate actions. The Alliance would do well to refrain from threats, especially since the reasons your Butcher was considered for Spectre elevation were the same as for Saren! And it's not like your _pet Butcher_ did not do similar things, to human colonies even."

The smooth voice of Councilor Tevos cut through the beginning of a heated retort.

"Ambassador, the data sent is indeed very convincing. Nevertheless, the Alliance will accept that even in such extreme cases, the proper steps must be followed. We have scheduled a hearing where Spectre Kryik and the Eden Prime ground team can present their findings to the Council - and only the Council. If the preliminary data is correct, I should not have to tell you the likely reactions from the general public, both in Council and Alliance space. For the time being, details of the incident" - Udina snorted at the word - "must remain secret to lessen the generated panic."

A quick look from Tevos to Sparatus and Valern was answered with small nods.

"Notify your government that the Spectre corps and the Council Navy offer cooperation in handling the geth, and that relief efforts are already being coordinated for the Eden Prime victims. If there is nothing more, then we should adjourn for the time being."

Udina nodded, broke the connection, and turned towards his guest.

"So, at least they are not denying it. What do you think on their cooperation offer, Admiral?"

The scarred face of his guest settled in a thoughtful frown.

"If the data from the Normandy is accurate, we'll need them. I can mobilize Fifth Fleet, but I'm afraid that's all we have for this crisis." - Admiral Hackett barked a derisive laugh at Udina's surprised expression. "Surely you do not think that burning a small colony world would convince the Parliament to allocate more forces for the retaliation? Honestly, I'm not sure they would even accept my decision - lucky for us, the Fleet Master agrees with our conclusion, and has given me leave to deal with the geth as I see fit."

Udina's omnitool chimed, and he frowned.

"It seems we have some uninvited visitors. Admiarl Hackett, do you know a certain Urdnot Rex? According to the security team, he's got a packet for us...and he's with an unknown quarian girl - though going by the quality and colors of her suit, she's likely connected to someone important in the Migrant Fleet."

"Urdnot _W_ rex is a rather prominent krogan warlord, ambassador - and he often works for the Shadow Broker. I think our day is about to get even more interesting."

A few minutes and security checks later, the two human leaders (and an honour guard of a dozed marines, lead by an N6 operative) welcomed the towering krogan and his diminutive quarian shadow.

"Miss Zorah, Wrex. I understand you have something for us." Udina gestured for the aliens to sit, Wrex declining with a snort, and going back to grinning hungrily at the marines.

"Yeah, the little spitfire managed to dig out something that may be connected to the fun time your little colony had recently."

At the inquiring gazes, Tali seemed to shrunk back a second, then rallied.

"The Migrant Fleet Marine detail I was with ran into a geth ship in the Sheol system about two weeks ago. We managed to disable and board it, and then got to work on retrieving data from the memory banks. We needed almost a full week before we managed to reconstruct parts of the data, which included files mentioning Saren Arterius, including some audio. We planned to deliver this data to you, but we were attacked en route by mercenaries, and…"

Wrex put a large hand on Tali's shoulder.

"Only she got away to the Citadel, and she thought that using a known information dealer with ties to the Broker would get her quicker access to the embassy, and someone in charge." - seeing Udina's mouth open, he lifted a hand for interruption. "Do not tell me your guards would have allowed a young quarian entrance - or that we'd be having this conversation if she was alone." The ambassador's mouth closed, face turning sour, but he nodded.

"The dealer she went to was likely on the payroll of Saren - or just spectacularly stupid. Anyway, I picked her up, and brought her here."

Admiral Hackett leaned forward, eyes intent on Tali.

"Miss Zorah, what was in that data?"

The quarian fiddled with her omnitool, and a turian's flanging voice filled the room.

"Eden Prime will be first step towards victory and retaliation. Getting that Beacon will bring us a step closer to the Conduit."

Another voice joined in, a smooth, cold, aristocratic contralto. Asari.

"And one step closer to waking He Who Dreams the Void."

 **Council Chambers**

Garrus Vakarian watched as the human delegation headed towards the podium for supplicants, his eyes evaluating the Butcher and his chosen crew. Given that they had, at most, three days ago fought a brutal battle on Eden Prime, the marines looked surprisingly collected, though Garrus noted the signs of weariness and guilt in the female's posture, whose face seemed somewhat familiar. A quick search on his omnitool yielded an answer that had him shift his posture into an aggressive, pre-pounce stance - and he had to force himself to relax as Ashley Williams walked past him, a floor lower, at the left hand of the Butcher of Torfan himself.

Garrus had scoured the extranet sites for some available information about the battle, and found a surprising amount, even some footage clearly taken via a human soldier's armorcam. What he saw and pieced together made him want to shake Saren's hand for a professionally executed overwhelming strike … and then rip the bastard to pieces for going after the humans while there were so many more worthy targets for attacks like this - Khar'shan for one, or Omega itself.

Before he could lose himself in happy visions of the immense black ship burning away slaver bases, ships, and the various petty warlords of the Terminus, the chime signaling the beginning of the session was heard. He and Executor Pallin were inside the privacy field, he noted that C-Sec presence was much more visible than usual, and there were markedly more reporters and gawkers in the chambers. _Well, nothing like a catastrophe to bring out the experts and pillars of the communities._

Garrus was surprised to see a krogan and a quarian enter after the humans, his mandibles flickered in amusement as he recognized Wrex, then once more when a green-eyed turian joined the group.

"The Council is in session." the cool, neutral tone of the VI sounded, as the three Councilor stepped to their pedestals, and Councilor Tevos spoke.

"After careful deliberation and analysis of the data presented by the Systems Alliance and Spectre Nihlus Kryik, the Council came to the following decisions. Saren Arterius is no longer considered a member of the Citadel Special Tactics and Recon Branch, his rank and privileges removed, any collusion with him is to be considered an act of war against the Citadel Council itself. The Spectre Corps, along with the STG, the Citadel Navy, and C-Sec will take action to bring him and his allies to justice. In light of the numerous grievances the Systems Alliance brought against Saren Arterius, the hunt for the renegade agent will be lead by a representative of the Alliance."

"Commander Alexander Shepard, step forward."

The Butcher marched to the edge of the podium, and Garrus saw the satisfied smile on the human ambassador's face.

"It is the decision of the Council that you be granted all the rights and privileges of the Special Tactics and Reconnaissance Branch of the Citadel. You are to be considered an instrument of the Council's will, the galaxy's first and last line of defense, expected to go above and beyond the call of duty to enforce the safety of the Citadel community. Your dedication to your tasks, determination, and competence were already well-known within the Alliance - now you must use them for the greater good of the galactic peace and stability. Your first assignment is to bring Saren low - using any force necessary."

Garrus may have imagined it, but he could swear he saw the Butcher's face twist into a bloodthirsty grin at the last sentence. The public part of the audience concluded, he followed the Executor towards the suite where the turian Councilor had his offices.

 **Office of Councilor Sparatus**

"Now, I want you to understand something, Shepard. I don't like you. I don't trust you. If it was up to me, the Hierarchy would hunt down that barefaced, shit-eating, gutless bastard Saren, but I guess that would be too much to ask from the spirits." - The voice of Councilor Sparatus trembled from barely contained fury, which was not helped by Ambassador Udina's satisfied smile.

"Councilor, I understand your position, but I believe I have a task that needs doing - and let us not waste time with pointless posturing. Obviously, you have either information I'm expected to act upon, orders that I may or may not accept, or some hoops that I need to jump through before I can start with my new job." - Shepard rumbled, looking expectantly at the turian behind the screen-studded desk.

"The information we have is being compiled by STG and Spectre agents, and should be ready within a day or so. That should give you enough time to get supplies and establish some communications and chain-of-command guidelines. For the time being, the Council can't give you much support apart from Spectre-approved small arms, omnitools, and armor. A task force is assembling as your backup, but that will take about a week, at current estimates, as we are pulling back ships and captains who have good record from their Traverse and Terminus deployments."

"The Alliance finds itself in a similar position - our fleets are stretched thin, and we can't really give you immediate support. Admirals Hackett and Mikhailovich are scrounging up a few ships for you, but that will take time, limiting you to the Normandy; at least for a week or so." Udina said, obviously displeased.

"What about ground support? I guess it's the same in the short run, especially with the limited space on the Normandy. But background support? Intel?"

"Councilor Valern will provide you with access to the findings of the STG team dedicated to the Saren case. Also, your credentials should be enough to access the Spectre network, and keep pace with the other lines of investigation. I suggest you keep in touch with Spectres Kryik and Vasir, as they'll be working on other, less direct angles of the case."

"I'll work on getting you at least a few Intelligence resources from home, Shepard. At the very least, Admiral Hackett promised to get you access to Fifth Fleet's intelligence."

"Also, the reason for the ecletic company here is that I want you to consider using, shall we say, informal assets separate from our usual communications and intel gathering channels." Sparatus stated, motioning towards Wrex, Tali, and Garrus. "Urdnot Wrex is a…"

"I know Wrex, Councilor. Not in person, but I've seen his work, and am aware of his file. I can agree with taking him on board - based on what I've seen, he'll be a great asset for the ground team as well." Shepard said, nodding towards the huge krogan, whose low, sinister chuckle made Tali shiver.

"It seems the Butcher approves of me. How nice. Maybe we'll arrange for a nice match, Shepard?"

"Your funeral, Wrex." the operative smirked, locking gazes with the mercenary, the staredown broken when Wrex snorted, and leaned back, his chair creaking under his weight.

"Now, as for the others. Detective Vakarian may not be a model turian, but he's a competent marksman and a detective with good instincts for criminal investigations. He can provide you understanding in Saren's motivations and turian mindset," - Sparatus glared at Udina, whose derisive chuckle seemed precisely aimed at him. "also, you can use him to access C-Sec databases and the investigation they're about to launch to map Saren's financial background."

"That does sound useful, Councilor, however… Detective Vakarian, let me make it clear: as soon as you step out of line, you endanger the mission or the crew, or try to pull some honorable turian bullshit, I will end you. If you have problems working with humans, obeying orders from humans - not just me, but all the way on the chain of command, state it now, or shut up. Are we clear?"

Garrus' mandibles twitched, he half-raised a hand for some kind of gesture, then nodded.

"I may not always like the orders I get, I will tell my opinions and will disagree with you if the situation calls for it, and it does not put the mission at risk. That said, as long as we put a bullet in Saren's brain and you get some decent dextro food, I'm in, and ready to follow your commands."

Shepard deliberated for a few moments, saw Sparatus tensely watching in the background, then nodded towards the detective before he turned towards the young quarian.

"And what about you, Miss Zorah? What do you bring to the table, and why would you want to get involved?"

Tali was nervously wringing her hands, as she visibly steeled herself to answer.

"Weeeell, geth are involved, and they are kind of my people's responsibility, and I know a lot about them, understand the technology, do not forget that us quarians are quite skilled with tech, you'll definitely need someone able to hack geth tech and I can easily do that and maybe help with ship maintenance, we quarians are good with that and on a small, new ship you probably need someone who can improvise as you may not have enough experts and…."

"Breathe, Miss Zorah. " Shepard cut in the increasingly frantic speech with a small smile. "I am not discounting your abilities, but I want to know if you are willing to get involved in groundside operations as well? Shipboard techs I can get from the Alliance as well."

"I have trained and performed some missions with the Migrant Fleet Marines, Spectre Shepard, and if needed, I am not afraid of getting my hands dirty, and…."

The tirade stopped as Shepard lifted a hand.

"All right, I'll consider it. Let me ask you one more thing: would the quarians be willing to send ships and intelligence, if requested?"

Tali hesitated, thinking for maybe half a minute.

"I think yes, the Admiralty could be persuaded to share some intel, and maybe even relegate some ships of the Scout Fleet...especially if the Migrant Fleet got access to a somewhat secure location, relatively safe from geth."

Udina smiled, a parent proud at his child's achievement.

"Miss Zorah, you just may go far in the Migrant Fleet. I'll consult with Admiral Hackett, and see if we can come up with something for you."

Shepard turned towards Sparatus, nodded.

"All right Councilor, I'll take them onboard. Anything else? Maybe an asari, seeing that they may have an interest in the whole business, what with the second voice on the file. Or a salarian, just to round out the official Council representatives?"

"Funny you should say that, I think Councilor Tevos does have some relevant information for you, Shepard."

 **Citadel Docks, berth of the SSV Normandy**

At Anderson's signal, the guards stepped away from the three men, leaving them in relative solitude. Udina nodded towards Shepard, who raised his omnitool, typed a few swift commands, then waited for a few seconds before nodding back.

"Shepard, it's for the best. I need Captain Anderson here as a liaison towards Hackett and the fleet. You should be well aware how differently civilians like me are handled, and the captain can likely bulldoze through where I'd be caught in the red tape."

"I understand, Ambassador. That does not mean I have to like it. Technically, I am qualified for it, but I do not have the same expertise for fleet actions as the Captain does. And I can't squeeze that much out from a crew, either."

"That's where you might be surprised, Alex. And while it would be nice to put the boot in Saren's ass directly, the Ambassador is correct, I likely can help you more from here. As for handling the ship - well, it's not like there's so much precedent using stealth ships, right? You have a quality crew, use them." - Anderson's deep voice resonated in the dock without much effort, Shepard unconsciously shifting to attention as his former CO spoke.

"I trust the equipment arrived, and there were no problems?"

"Well, the armor and small arms from Hahne-Kedar arrived without problems, and the Spectre stocks were also delivered once I got Nihlus to set the quartermaster straight. The Mako's main laser will need some calibration, though that's not unusual. Chief Engineer Adams reported the core is stable, ship systems are ok, repair stocks, omnigel tanks and food are topped… All considered, we're good to go, sir."

"Where will you start, Alex?" Anderson queried. "The Armstrong Nebula, using Hackett's fleet as a cover to check the geth outposts there?"

"No, Captain. According to the information presented by Councilor Tevos, and verified via Intelligence, the asari voice was identified as Matriarch Benezia T'Soni. Her daughter, Liara T'Soni is currently at a digsite on Therum, in the Artemis Tau cluster - on an expedition funded by the University of Kathmandu, sirs. I did not have time to read and digest her academic work and interest, but the people at Kathmandu do not fund alien scientists without reason - and they certainly do not get Kai Leng and a band of N-trained soldiers as a security detail." Shepard checked something on his omnitool, then continued. "Sirs, the digsite has missed two checkins. I do no like the sound of that, and whatever they found, I intend to either secure it, or deny it to Saren - or if needed, to any interested parties."

Udina paled a bit, and even Anderson looked as if he bit into something sour.

"Wonderful. Shepard, I know that Spectre credentials go a very long way, and N7s have in some way even less limits, but try to handle the situation before a full marine division or an orbital bombardment is needed. We may not be able to get either of those in time."

"I will do my best, sir. That said, I'd better be off. Captain Anderson. Ambassador." Shepard saluted to the two men, Anderson returned the salute, Udina nodded. The Spectre about-faced, and marched to his ship.

Less than an hour later, the Normandy was swallowed by the Widow Relay, hopping through the network in the direction of the Artemis Tau cluster, then at flank speed towards Therum.

 **Interlude - Burned memories**

Consciousness was slow to return. Sounds came first - light mechanical noises, whispers at the edge of hearing, a constant susurration, the low-level hum of an active drive core. Smells came next - the acerbic tang of burned circuitry, sharp smell of ozone after a lightning strike. Wires and bands binding him to place were next to be sensed, before the recumbent figure opened his eyes.

 _So sharp. So focused. So many details. Too many details._ Blink. The vista before him appeared in cool hues of blue, with parts of the machinery glowing orange-red. Blink. Emptiness, a dark void, with only parts of his body glowing. Blink. Different parts of his body glowing. Blink. Blink. Blink.

Where was he? Why was he here? Who was he?

His focus turned inward, trying to find reasons, memories, _anything_.

A sharp-featured visage with backswept fringe, showing no facial markings. Feelings of awe and respect, turning darker, more savage, giving way to grief and rage. _A family member? His sire, maybe? What is a sire, anyway?_

A human face, flat, hard edges, defiantly staring him down - brown eyes boring into his before cold blue light seems to flare within the human's gaze. Loathing. Anger. Bitter condemnation - _for him? for himself?_ \- when he nods to accept something the human says.

Inquisitive green eyes, white facial markings, a younger turian looking at him respectfully, stance conveying attention and eagerness. Scenes of carnage flash by, explosions, broken bodies, exultation at a job well done, pride in someone who can keep up with him, follow in his footsteps. Shimmering heat-haze spotted from the corner of his eye, two flashes, two impacts, pain in his shoulder, arm going numb. A flash to another scene, similar yet different, and he's moving, too late, his head erupts in white PAIN…

Blue eyes looking at him fondly, conveying warmth, respect, and something he cannot, _dares not_ place. The figure - the asari - soothes him, her presence quells the turmoil of his mind, making everything clearer. The face changes, becoming sharper, sterner, ever more ruthless to his distant dismay - _aren't Matriarchs supposed to be unchanging, ageless beings?_

A ship in the dark of the void, an immense leviathan of silent menace, his every step on its decks - _within its body?_ \- accompanied by incessant whispers, barely heard, always there. The constant feeling of hunger, impatience barely held back by a will beyond that of the asari, parts of the machinery counselling patience, urging for sleep, to wait for but a short while. The feeling of power suffusing him when he stepped on the bridge, and touched the command throne, a towering will crashing against his, eroding walls, discipline, feelings…

Saren Arterius howled - a bestial rage of fury, loss, and hunger given voice, mechanical undertones mixing into his flanging harmonics.

Matriarch Benezia T'Soni listened to her companion's awakening, the berserk tantrum he subjected the regeneration chamber to a thing that would have caused her pain, even a short while ago. Now, she considered his state with a cool, clinical detachment, while her fingers scrolled through maps, data requests, lists - her mind and concentration bent towards finding the possible next step in their campaign.

She was still undecided where to go next - the shell company on Noveria has finally produced results, and the experiment was in a state where interrogation was possible. At the same time, their agents located - or rather, were tipped off - an Alliance experiment which unearthed an actual thoi'han, and were in the process of establishing communications with the creature.

She regretted not having access to her daughter, whose expertise and knowledge would serve them well in finding clues, mapping out their steps, locating the patterns and trends buried in the layers of history and data.

 _A small asari, her face scrunched in concentration, digging up the garden. The same child looking up at her with tearful eyes, as she hurries to her - the tears drying up as she laughs, and sits down next to the child._

 _The same asari, somewhat older, talking to her, hands moving in agitated explanation, blue eyes shining with the wonder of discovery._

 _The same asari, face sad, distant, as she whispers something, and turns to leave, the Matriarch standing alone as she is immolated in a flash of red light stabbing from the sky, the sheer wrongness of the memory, the intrusive feeling making her scream._

Flashes of memory, flashes of colors - all drowned out, muted by the cold, void-blue light of the ship, intruding into her thoughts, her mind, her very being. The Matriarch feels the unending hunger, her stomach convulsing with sympathetic cramps, the cool metal under her touch guiding her back to her task, the whispers becoming less intrusive, as the cold seeps into her bones, her brain, her soul.

Matriarch Benezia T'Soni has a task, and she will see it through, no matter the cost. Only a tiny part of her brain, muted behind a barrier, wonders and weeps at the cost, at what she lost, what she will likely lose in the days to come.


	4. Chapter 3

**Knossos system, Artemis Tau cluster SSV Normandy**

Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreu was trying to get comfortable - not an easy task for someone with his less-than-sturdy bones. The fact that one could cut the tension on board with a knife also did not help - but that, he considered fair price for live-testing their stealth system against geth ships. And hopefully only geth ships this time, if I do not see that black monster again, I can die happy.

The memories of Eden Prime came involuntarily, the scenes of groundside carnage the black ship was capable of, Anderson's barked orders, the helpless, nerve-wracking waiting whether the sensors of the enemy ship would notice them and take action…

Joker brought himself back with a shudder, eyes again focusing on his displays. After a short discussion with Pressly and Tali, Shepard opted to bring in the Normandy below the ecliptic, on a slower stealthed course towards Therum, with two recon drones launched to scout the system. The recon data was steadily scrolling across Joker's display, and he could see that the Ops Alley crew were hard at work, regularly checking and updating their firing solutions. Well, even with a surprise attack, I may have to give the others a demo on why I'm the best damn pilot of the Alliance. Four frigates and a cruiser could give us a run for our money; well, ok, not with me in the pilot seat!

The pilot's eyes narrowed at the datastream from a recon drone, and he keyed his comm.

"Commander, one of our little birds has something you might want to take a look at."

"Be there in two minutes. Have Pressly present as well, Flight Lieutenant."

"Will do, Commander".

Pressly arrived first, his datapad displaying the intel they had available from the Alliance databases and their recon drones. Shepard was already suited up, his bulk dwarfing even the tall XO, and Joker felt very small when the Spectre leaned over his chair to check the readouts on the pilot's screen.

"So Leng's crew did some damage to their fleet too, eh?" Shepard's voice was laden with grim amusement.

"Yes, sir. I estimate that likely a frigate and a cruiser were destroyed by the expedition's ship, they damaged two frigates slightly - and seemingly, knocked out part of the sensor net of the cruiser." Pressly's calm, cold voice summarizing the recon report.

"Is it large enough for us to slip in close?" The headrest of the chair creaked as Shepard's fingers tightened.

"Yes, sir. We can plot a course, and Joker can definitely do any last-second maneuvering needed in case they spot us." The pilot struggled to keep his jaw off the floor - Pressly openly praising me? Did he hit his head?

"Get us in close, XO. I would like to get within half nominal range of the main cannon, preferably even closer before firing. Missile spread aimed at the blockade, then the main cannon should be enough to end the geth - provided our pilot is good enough, hmm, Joker?"

"I can do it, sir. I can do it blindfolded, even." The pilot was surprised for a second when Shepard's hand squeezed his shoulder carefully. The Spectre nodded at Pressly.

"XO, Flight Lieutenant, I'll leave you to your job. Plan for two dropsites - the Mako with our marines here" Shepard lit up a mining complex on an overlooking plateau near the excavation, "before doing a run back to orbit, then dropping me and three specialists directly over the digsite at high speed. Would that be a problem, Flight Lieutenant - and consider the possibility of GTS-rated fire from the geth."

Joker's hands brought up schematics, barrier data, maneuvering profiles on one of his screens, as he contemplated briefly.

"Yes sir, I can do it. The ground-based fire should not be an issue unless the geth either have our schematics or land a lucky shot."

"Pressly, tell Adams to have his best man doing DC. Once you dropped us, provide support for the marines. Keep the two drones working, if any geth reinforcements show up, take them out - unless it's that black ship. In that case, run. Evac the ground forces if possible, but priority in that case is you getting away with the collected data."

"Yes sir. Good luck." Pressly noted down something on his datapad, saluted Shepard, and left.

The Normandy spent the next three hours slowly crawling closer to the geth ships, using the asteroid field as cover, with Adams keeping a constant eye on the stealth system and the increasingly-overstressed cooling, while Pressly and Joker monitored the geth sensor grid, carefully navigating through the sweep pattern. A quiet chime sounded in front of Joker, and he felt his palms go sweaty as he clicked his comm for a shipwide announcement.

"All hands, brace for high-speed combat maneuvering."

"Targets locked, XO, weapons ready." Specialist Draven managed to almost completely suppress her excitement and fear.

"Weapons free, Specialist! Joker, flank speed! Course…." Pressly's voice was drowned by the warning klaxons, as a sixth enemy ship appeared on the Normandy's ladar, heading out from the asteroid field.

The Normandy shuddered as its missile salvo was launched towards the geth fleet in orbit, then the ship surged forward, speeding towards Therum.

The geth, unsurprisingly, reacted with mechanical precision as they began the evasive dance of counter-missile measures, their ECM systems coming online to batter the human ship with electronic noises, garbage data, false spectres of ship signatures to throw off the incoming missiles. The sheer scale of the effort would have been enough, as the Normandy's targeting systems would have lost lock after lock, leaving the missiles easy prey for the GARDIAN lasers of the geth ships. However, the systems required a precious second or two to reach full power, and the missiles were not getting their targeting data exclusively from the Normandy, but from the two Hermes drones as well - thus the missile salvo stayed on course.

"Transfer fire control for the main cannon to my console, Talitha." Joker grinned as his hands flew over the control panels, his ship, his extended self dancing closer and closer to the enemy. The Ops Alley behind him was in controlled chaos, the techs working frantically to keep the targeting data flows running despite the surprisingly - or not, they are machines, after all - efficient ECM, all the while guiding the missiles through the laser defence grid of the geth ships. Pressly barked orders to them, directing the effort, leaving Joker and Adams to squeeze the most from their respective systems.

Down in engineering, the Tantalus drive core lit up, spinning increasingly faster, as Adams fed more power to both the engines and the main cannon, keeping a careful eye on the diagnostics. Up in the cockpit, Joker's grin became wolfish, hungry, as an incandescent blue light shot out from the Normandy's main cannon, the shot hammering into a geth frigate a fraction of a second after the missiles detonated, the dark of the void illuminated by the blue-white crackle of collapsing kinetic barriers.

The geth ships were well-built, powerful vessels with enough firepower to batter the Normandy to chaff in a normal engagement - at closer range, as close to being surprised as AIs can get, they had very little chance. The hole in their sensor grid, which may have been there as a trap intended to lure in would-be attackers was closed too late, after the human operators and targeting computers already managed to guide all six missiles through it. Each frigate was hit once, the warheads strong enough to collapse their barriers, while the somewhat battered cruiser suffered a direct hit to its drive core, the explosion tore apart the cruiser in a swiftly expanding fireball, that incinerated a slow to react frigate.

A second frigate was cut apart by the Normandy's main cannon, the beam of coherent light evaporating plating, bulkheads, internal systems before it reached and caressed the ship's drive core, turning it into a ball of plasma.

"Geth cruiser coming in from the asteroid field, bearing…" Joker toned out the Ops Alley voices, as he guided the Normandy weaving through the GARDIAN laser fire, blasting apart the third frigate, the human ship's kinetic barriers lighting up as the return fire from the last frigate grazed them. Joker's hands flew across his panels, the ship dancing in response, evading most of the fire from the closer geth ship, and throwing off the target lock of the cruiser approaching from behind them. The pilot grinned, satisfied with the performance, throwing the ship into another sharp evasive turn - directly into the path of an incoming shot.

The Normandy's kinetic barriers collapsed in a crackling flash of electricity, the energy of the hit enough to make the ship tumble, despite Joker's lightning-fast course correction - the frigate used the microsecond to aim and practically shear off the outer right engine with a precise shot from its GARDIAN array. The pilot cursed, alarms howled across the ship, as he forced the Normandy into a turn much sharper than any other human vessel was capable of, the groaning, moaning of the stressed hull joining in the crescendo of noise aboard the vessel.

"Come on, baby, don't fall apart on me!" Joker whispered, his eyes tracking the tactical plot - huh, maybe I should get Talitha something, she's very good - and fired as the target lock turned green. The shot burned through the last geth frigate, turning it into a cored, drifting husk.

"Joker, slight change of plans." Shepard's voice was calm in his comm. "No idea when and if geth reinforcements come in, so I want you to drop us off as we planned."

"You are aware of the geth cruiser chasing us, sir?"

"Eh, you can ask one of the Ops Alley techs to blindfold you, Flight Lieutenant." Joker gaped for a moment, then laughed.

"Aye-aye sir, I'll get you on the ground - and in one piece. Good luck, sir." The pilot clicked his comm, contacting Engineering.

"Adams, I need all the power you can give me for the engines." Another click, another channel. "Navigator, plan a flank speed course for insertion, and put it on my screen."

The Normandy flashed towards Therum, slowly distancing itself from the pursuing geth cruiser.

 **Therum, E-A Mining Complex T-03**

Kaidan Alenko was worried about a number of things - the orbital battle, the surely incoming geth reinforcements, the situation of Shepard's team, and not the least his own position. The mining complex did have a good view of the digsite and the camp of the expedition, so his marines could make the approach a sheer hell for the geth - and the machines were coming, he could see that. He thought they were lucky that only a half dozen geth were stationed at the mining complex, likely to monitor the comms and sensor equipment. The flashlight-heads were reduced to scrap by now, and his crew took only a few light wounds - likely due to the fact that Ashley did not hesitate in using the Mako's lascannon to "flush out" the geth.

His troops were finding cover, digging in as best as they could - he estimated about 10-12 minutes before the incoming geth were in range for small arms fire...meaning that in just a few minutes, the machines would be in effective range of the Mako's cannon, then Ashley's sniper rifle. He ducked into the Mako, checked the sensors for a headcount of the incoming geth, then assigned Jenkins and Tanaka to the IFV. After that came the hardest part of every such encounter - waiting and trying to ignore the headache his implant gave him when he gathered his energies.

The staff lieutenant checked his omnitool to see if Tali's tailored viruses were ready, then started munching an energy bar as a precaution for the undoubtedly excessive biotic usage he'd have to perform soon.

"Geth coming in range, Lieutenant. Wow...there's a LOT of them, sir." Tanaka's voice was even, a craftsman about to begin his work.

"All right. Jenkins, large geth are your priority - do not let those reach the complex, especially the colossi need to be blocked. Ashley, I want you to keep a lookout for their drones - as soon as those appear, deal with them. Negulesco, assist Jenkins as soon as the flashlights are within rocket range."

Kaidan found satisfaction in the first exploding geth walker - then cursed, as the Mako's second shot was blocked by a hexagon barrier. His HUD showed an indistinct mass of geth approaching rapidly - scores of drones and small, mobile turrets closing in, fast. No way Ashley could stop them alone.

"Watch the sky, people, we got incoming! Short, controlled bursts, work in pairs!"

Another explosion sounded, closer than the previous one, as the colossi entered the range of Negulesco's rocket launcher - their barriers could definitely stop either the rocket or the lascannon, but both of those, aimed at the same walker put it down for good.

Kaidan counted the geth, while he primed his omnitool for an overload charge. The numbers did not make him happy - three colossi, about a dozen Juggernaut and Destroyer types, as well as close to a hundred normal platforms. Well, we definitely will earn our pay today.

A green flash and the shimmering crackle of the Mako's shields signalled that the geth were in range - and damn the bastards for being clever enough to deploy a LOT of those annoying hexagonal barriers to cover the colossi while they fired, and used both that fire and the rocky terrain as cover in getting closer. The staff lieutenant's hand began to glow blue, his body tensed for the gesture to smash a large geth into the ground, as he noticed a small flicker to his left on his HUD, along with a heat-haze shimmer. His reflexes were almost fast enough to dodge the small, limber, off-white geth that jumped on him, the three-fingered hands missing his throat by a few centimeters...then the geth lit up blue, and flew back to crunch against a building.

"Watch for infiltrators!" His shout almost came too late - half dozen geth were among them, decloacking, brawling with his marines. Kaidan's omnitool flashed, the charge overloading one platform, his Phalanx felling another one. The third tossed Crosby's body aside, the marine's grenade launcher in its paws, aiming for the Mako, then the geth slumped, its head blown off by Ashley's shot. Dubyansky killed another with a long burst before the geth could finish Negulesco - even so, Kaidan could see that the woman's right arm was broken. The last two geth fell to rifle fire and Kaidan quickly took stock. Crosby and Negulesco were out of action along with Laflamme, leaving him with just five marines, Ashley, and the Mako to stop the geth, who used the distraction of the infiltrators to close into range, their shots pinging off the complex walls, kinetic barriers, the IFV's armor.

The lieutenant grabbed Negulesco's rocket launcher, nodded at Draven when he saw the woman taking Crosby's grenade launcher, then ducked as the geth salvo cratered the complex walls. The Mako's cannon answered, joined by the IFV's machine guns, the fire transforming a Colossus into scrap metal.

"Lieutenant, we can't keep this up much longer, the shields are under forty percent strength." Jenkins sounded much calmer, colder than before Eden Prime, his voice punctuated by the geth shots peppering the complex.

"Noted, Jenkins. We are staying; you just concentrate on the big bastards."

The geth fire intensified, the machines were getting ever closer using precise covering fire and those damn hexagon barriers. Ashley did a good job at thinning the geth, as were his marines, but Kaidan still counted around seventy or so smaller platforms, with nine large geth and the two Colossi. The situation was not improved when Tanaka failed to dodge the green lightning of a Colossus, and the Mako's barrier collapsed, the IFV starting to smoke. Another hit, maybe two, and it's out of action; damn, the odds are not good.

A flash of light from orbit, and the geth seemed to falter for a second. Kaidan took a deep breath, tossed the rocket launcher to Lowe, and half-closed his eyes.

"Williams, coordinate for a minute, keep them off me." The acknowledgement was lost to the blood pounding in his veins, as blue arcs started to crawl along Kaidan's fingers, up the arms. The lieutenant's mouth was a bloody grin, blood started to leak from his nose, his ears, his eyes as he gathered every scrap of energy he could, ignoring the pounding in his brain, the red tint of his vision. He was unaware of the explosion as Draven and Lowe managed to take down a Colossus, did not hear the cheer as Jenkins blew up the last walker. He did not see Tanaka fall while crawling out from the burning Mako, did not hear Jenkins as the man howled in agony as his armor burnt from the geth plasma and the IFV's melting armor. He was barely aware of Dubyansky pulling him further away to another cover as his previous position was riddled with geth pulse rifle fire. His face a mask of blood, body outlined in blue fire, Kaidan Alenko let his power go with a gurgling scream, the geth stopping in a blue flash of discontinuity. Someone was panting and gurgling nearby, and he felt as if his brain was leaking out his ears, his lungs felt filled with fluid, he could hardly breathe. Hold on, concentrate, just a second or two more, give them time, hold them steady, focus…

Ashley was half-blinded for a microsecond by the blue flare of Kaidan's power, as her HUD compensated, then she moved. She threw Jenkins and Tanaka away from the melting Mako, spared a glance at Kaidan, saw that he was still holding on, then she switched her Indra to full auto and fired. The burst cut apart a Prime, stitched across four smaller platforms, felling them. Draven and Lowe blew apart another Prime and three Destroyers, before switching to their rifles, as Dubyansky and Chase raked the geth line with their rifles. The blue light of biotics dissipated, as Kaidan dropped to the ground, unconscious or dead. The geth were confused again, the stasis and the loss of some larger units slowing them down for a few precious seconds - seconds they did not have, with the marines pouring fire into them, destroying the larger specimens, throwing the machines into another short loop.

Her blood singing in her veins, Ashley laughed as she danced among the remaining geth, her sniper rifle firing bursts of disruptor rounds before overheating. She dropped it, grabbing her Avenger from its maglock, the first burst ending a geth, as she pirouetted between the return fire. So many partners, so much fun, I could definitely get used to this, I haven't felt this good since Eden Prime, or even earlier…

"...ma'am, do you hear me?"

Ashley snapped out from her dazed, giddy state and realized a marine - Dubyansky, her mind supplied - was and probably had been talking to her. The geth were scattered wrecks, her own armor scorched in multiple places, her Indra and Avenger unusable with their heatsinks melted from the sustained rate of fire. Lowe was kneeling beside Alenko, the man's helmet on the ground, his face a mask of blood. The medic was working frantically, injectors hissing as she pumped various stabilizers and stims into Kaidan.

"Is he going to make it, Lowe?"

"If we can get him on the Normandy within an hour or two, Doctor Chakwas has a good chance of putting him back together. Provided, we do not run into more trouble..."

The medic's voice was interrupted by the tremors they all felt beneath their feet, and from the peak of Mount Kondratiev a plume of smoke rose up.

"You just had to say it, didn't you Lowe?" Ashley's voice was sarcastic, as she clicked through her comm channels, finding the one that mattered now. "Normandy, you there?"

Static. The tremors continued, and the plume of smoke was still rising, maybe even getting thicker.

"Normandy, do you copy?"

"Yes, Williams, we hear you." Pressly's voice, static-laden and in pain.

"We need evac, sir, fast. And likely the commander's team will soon, too - the volcano is starting to act up."

"On our way. Joker, what's our ETA?"

Ashley relaxed a bit, stepping to check the other wounded before sitting down on the partially-melted Mako.

 **Mount Kondratiev, ruins**

Seeing the expedition camp's remains did not improve Shepard's mood, even if he had to agree with Wrex that the security team had been very good - not that he expected otherwise from Kai Leng and his soldiers. The huge krogan had been almost giddy with happiness as they stalked through the ruined camp towards the mountain, his maw twisted into the eager, hungry smile of an apex predator. Garrus was more detached and clinical, his armor sensors and omnitool programs questing for possible survivors, data caches, any storage devices that remained - to no avail. The geth were thorough in destroying the findings and data recovered by the expedition.

The only possible silver lining was that there were traces of asari blood, leading from the camp towards the mountain, into the ruined Prothean complex. Hopefully, T'Soni was still around, and not as a husk, corpse, or abductee. The Spectre was almost sure that his old N7 partner managed to get the doubtlessly "strategically important" asari into safety - and he still wondered what the ruins or T'Soni's brain contained that merited this much investment from the Alliance.

Shepard quietly chuckled as he thought back on the discussion with Alenko and Pressly on the Normandy, as he told them he'd take only Wrex and Garrus with him. Obviously, the main point of contention was Garrus - nobody dared question the competence or work ethics of Wrex, but the turian, by his mere race, was considered a liability. Still, he managed to convince the others, and he decided he'd treasure their expressions as he told them that this way, there'd be much fewer witnesses if he had to put Garrus down should circumstances demand it. He was somewhat sorry to have left Tali on the Normandy, but Adams was right, the quarian's experience with ships would be more important than having another specialist on his team - besides, if the geth had something that he, Wrex and Garrus could not handle, the suit-bound quarian would likely be more of a liability than an asset.

The geth did not neglect leaving sentries around the campsite, but the Normandy's sensors were good enough to spot them even during the brief pass of the drop, and once spotted, the dozen remaining guards were not really an obstacle. Too easy, even with the bulk of the geth gone to take out Alenko's team. Wonder when the geth will spring their trap on us.

He signalled his companions, and the trio entered the tunnels under the volcano. Shepard took point, followed by Wrex, with Garrus bringing up the rear - and the human silently lamented his waning sanity, willingly allowing a competent turian sniper behind him. He focused forward, following the asari bloodtrail, as something pinged on his sensors; a signal, that would likely lead them to the asari, and if he was still alive, to Kai Leng.

The trio descended further, the roughly shaped stone here and there giving way to off-white, smooth metal, the tunnel ending in a visibly damaged, but serviceable elevator. Wrex chuckled darkly as they stepped in, checking the setting of his enormous shotgun, muttering about pyjacks and barrels. The elevator deposited them on a ledge overlooking a vast cavern, whose main features were the bullet-riddled storage containers and tents, the trampled, smashed scientific equipment, and the track-mounted, inactive mining laser. The Spectre's armor sensors detected about two dozen geth - all of them Destroyers or larger ones, and a sizable organic lifeform. In the southern edge of the cavern, facing the mining laser, a shimmering green-white energy field closed off a cylindrical metal tower, and behind the energy field hovered an asari.

Garrus moved off to a better sniping position, while Wrex and Shepard prepared for the charge down, when the sizable organic lumbered into view - and Shepard felt rather than heard the furious rumbling sound of Wrex. Wait, there's something weird on that krogan's hump...

The krogan lifted his hand to his hump, and threw something metallic away, and Shepard's eyes went wide for a second as the wave of skin-crawling, vomit-inducing, nauseating wrongness washed over him. Wrex snarled, his maw a rictus of hate, while Garrus swayed, mandibles flaring open. The geth moved into firing positions, and the enemy krogan's bloodthirsty, insane laughter filled the cavern.

"Come on you little pyjack, show me your fury!" Shepard's mocking voice was accompanied by a blue flare of a barrier shimmering into existence in front of them, stopping the first geth volley. The krogan's furious roar seemed to shake the cavern itself, intensifying as Garrus placed two quick shots into a geth Destroyer, putting it down for good. Wrex blurred forward in a blue flash, crashing into a Prime, staggering the huge mech, before he ripped its head off with one hand while his shotgun boomed and turned the Prime's torso into chunks of unidentifyable parts. A quick gesture of a blue-lit fist ripped apart a Juggernaut, the warp field dissipating along with the machine.

Shepard strafed right, away from Garrus, his sniper rifle spitting disruptor rounds, wreaking havoc with the geth shields, while the turian switched to explosive rounds that shredded the shieldless geth mechs. The quick double-teaming took down three Destroyers before the geth rallied from the shock of losing a Prime, and then the ledge was saturated with pulse rifle fire. Garrus dodged and ran his way back to the elevator, finding some cover there but not before his shields collapsed under the sustained fire, his omnitool working on preparing a little packet he got from Tali. He ignored the blood dripping from his side and arm as he again raised his rifle, sighting down at another Destroyer.

Shepard jumped downwards, his biotics flaring so he could land without breaking anything, his shields winked out as the geth shots brought it down before he sprinted towards the krogan, his head pounding from the implant-induced stress. A gesture with his omnitool overloaded a Juggernaut, the mech slumping down. The krogan roared as it stamped towards him, and the Spectre could see a deep scar along its chest, while its hump was a biomechanical nightmare, a humanoid shape crudely fused into the beast, cables snaking from it to the krogan's armor, the nauseating, clammy crawling sensation becoming stronger as he zig-zagged towards the krogan, changing his rifle for his Executioner.

Wrex blurred towards the second Prime, the displaced air booming as he slammed into the mech, then went flying as the back-staggering geth locked a hand around his arm and threw. His shot went wide, cratering the cavern wall as he grunted when the pulse rifle shattered his shields with a blue crackle, ate through his barrier, and bored into his armor. The old krogan could feel the rage and adrenaline rising in response, and with a roar, focused himself again as he threw a warp field at the mech, shredding parts of it, then the second gesture detonated the biotic field, again staggering the Prime before the shotgun boomed again, ripping the thing apart.

Garrus saw the geth platforms hesitate again at the loss of the Prime, and charged out from cover, his rifle shot turning a Juggernaut into scrap metal, before he leapt towards the cavern floor, omnitool flaring as it deployed the finished damping beacon before the geth could fully recover, the small beacon blanketing geth frequencies in the area with contradicting pulses, garbage data, electronic chaff. The turian hissed as he landed and rolled, blood spattering on the bround, his leg buckling when he tried to stand, forcing him to half-stagger, half-crawl towards cover.

Shepard managed to dodge the krogan's charge, receiving only a hard jab to his side that still was powerful enough to crack both armor and ribs. Up close, the unnatural sensation was almost overwhelming, the Spectre was forced to recall all the focusing tricks and litanies he knew. The krogan turned faster than he thought possible, its Revenant spitting a hail of slugs towards the operative, and he couldn't dodge it completely, the burst put him off-balance enough for the krogan to move in, and Shepard hissed as the brute grabbed and dislocated his arm , his pistol falling down from numb fingers. The krogan's maw opened wide in a triumphant grin, then it blinked as Shepard's other hand blurred towards its maw, omniblade folding out to impale the roof of its mouth, burning through its brain, a biotic-enhanced kick to its stomach sending it stumbling away before it could reflexively bite off the human's arm.

Less than a minute later, the cavern was silent again.

Liara was more and more certain that recent events were not simply products of her overstressed, possibly-addled brain. The bizarre trio who managed to massacre the geth limped up the ramp to stand before the barrier curtain, the human stepping up close, putting away a half-eaten energy bar.

"Doctor T'Soni, I presume?" The voice was tired, yet Liara fancied she could discern humor and good mood in the gold-flecked brown eyes. "We came to get you out of here."

"Thank the Goddess! I didn't think anyone would come looking for me." The human looked as if he wanted to say something, but Liara continued. "This thing I'm in is a Prothean security device, and I'm afraid I'll need your help to get out, all right?"

"Shepard, can we trust her? Her mother's working with Saren, according to the data you showed us." The turian's words left her reeling. Her mother doing what, exactly? With whom, exactly?

"You are the detective, Garrus, you tell me. But I'm inclined to trust her, as this" the human gestured towards the cavern floor "looks a bit too costly and elaborate just for the chance of saddling us with a mole." The turian's mandibles flexed, then he nodded, and the human turned back towards Liara.

"Well, I'll definitely want to hear how exactly you got trapped like this, but the more pressing issue is how to get you out of there. Any suggestions?"

"The control panel behind me should be able to switch off the field, if you can get inside the barrier curtain; that's the tricky part. I can walk you through the necessary commands once you get to the terminal, but the defences cannot be switched off from the outside." Liara blinked as the krogan barked a deep belly laugh.

"Well, Shepard, there was a toy back down we could use to bypass the curtain."

"You got a point, Wrex - just hang in there, Doctor, we'll be back in a minute or two."

Liara blinked as they left her, tired mind whirring through possibilities, before her eyes went wide. Surely they can't mean the mining laser, that requires careful…

The wide, coherent beam of light illuminated the cavern, stabbing into the bedrock somewhere under Liara's position. The whole cavern groaned, and dust fell from the ceiling. A minute later she heard an elevator whine behind her, then approaching steps. She turned her head as far as it would go, and spoke.

"Please, get me out of here before more geth arrive, or the whole mountain comes crashing down on us. That button over there…." She trailed off as the human walked up to the console, pressed something on the holographic interface, and she fell forward, whimpering as her wounded arm hit the floor. The human stepped to her, helping her stand up.

"Allow me, Doctor." The human offered a medigel injector, pointing at her arm. Liara nodded, and sighed as the medigel did its work. "Now, do you have any idea how we can get out here, apart from that entrance?"

"Well, the elevator you used to get up here should bring us up to the entry level, and with the barrier gone, we can then walk out. Come!" Liara started towards the elevator, slowly at first, her legs still waking up. The sight of what the krogan was carrying made her queasy - a legless, mutilated human body, face hidden behind a mask, the rise and fall of his chest indicating he was still alive. Her eyes widened, and she gasped, trembling, as she recognized the insignia of the two interlocked hexagons, and the small device around his neck.

"Come, Doctor, we need to get both of you to medical care." Liara nodded, still staring in dumb horror, moving on autopilot. "Here, drink a bit. Slowly, just sip it." The water was warm, but after the days of privation, it felt delicious to Liara, and it took all her willpower to sip slowly, instead of guzzling it down. The elevator was moving up, while at first minuscule, then increasingly powerful tremors shook the mountain. The heat was rising.

"Shepard" she blushed at the familiarity of using the human's name without proper introduction "we should hurry as soon as we arrive up top. You may not have been aware, but this is a volcano, and the mining laser may have stirred it up from dormancy."

"Agreed, Doctor" the human clicked, switching comm channels in his helm. "Normandy, we need extraction, ASAP." Liara couldn't hear the answer, only saw that the man's face hardened for a second. "Ok, Flight Lieutenant. ETA?"

"If he lets us roast, I'll eat him." The krogan - Wrex - grumbled, flashing his toothy grin.

The elevator finally reached the top level, and by that time, the trembling was very noticeable, the air starting to become suffocating. Liara froze on the platform, as a dozen geth took aim at them, a yellow-colored krogan battlemaster smirking at them from among the geth.

"Surrender! Or don't, that would be even more fun!" The rumbling voice dripped with bloodlust, as the krogan brandished a familiar, shimmering blade.

"Kill the geth!" And Liara gasped as Shepard moved, his hand at her waist, tossing her into cover at a console. Wrex blurred towards the largest, blood-colored geth, a boom of displaced air signaling the charge, followed by another boom as the krogan's shotgun vaporised the upper half of the mech. Garrus darted to the left, omnitool flashing as a blue arc overloaded the two closest mech, slumping them, then the turian brought up his rifle, a boom, and a fourth geth was down. The yellow krogan roared towards her, and before Liara could bring up her barrier, or react in any way, Shepard again moved, the human seemingly teleporting in the krogan's path.

Liara tried focusing on her biotics to bring up any biotic trick she knew, but she knew she wouldn't be fast enough, not with how exhausted she was. The human would be torn apart, his companions overwhelmed, and… Her eyes went wide, as Wrex smeared a geth into a wall with a biotic field, seemingly oblivious of the hits he took from the other machines. Garrus weaved between covers, his shields flickering but seemingly holding, as he switched to a different rifle, and put short bursts into the geths, one after the other. Shepard and the yellow krogan fought a vicious dance, the human bleeding from a number of shallow cuts, his armor dented where the krogan punches hit him, while the brute sported a dozen or more cauterized slashes where the burning omniblade of the human scored a hit.

The human flashed a blood-stained, hungry grin at the krogan, his eyes behind the bloody faceplate seemed to glow with a golden light. Impossibly, the temperature dropped, making their breaths plume, hoarfrost spiralled out from the two duellers, and Liara only perceived snatches after that. The shimmering blade arcing through the air, trailing blood. The sound of bone crunching, followed by a krogan howl. The shimmering blade in Shepard's hand, slicing away half the krogan's skull. A pulse of blue light followed by bone snapping. A whirlwind of golden-orange flame around the krogan.

From the corner of her eyes, she was aware of the remaining few geth, and released the energy she spent the last seconds building up. With a shout, the familiar singularity formed - not as powerful as earlier when she was attacked, but certainly strong enough to incapacipate mere mechs. Especially since Wrex and Garrus did not just stand and gawk.

Then it ended, and Liara fell forward, the edge of her vision started to go black. Someone grabbed her, and she whimpered as her wounded arm was jostled.

"Come on Doctor, we are leaving!" She looked into a pair of gold-flecked brown eyes, then shuddered as the human's eyes flashed gold, and they moved.

Bruised, battered, bleeding, they made it out to find the Normandy waiting, hovering. Liara felt proud that she could hold out until they were on the ship before fainting.


	5. Codex - Council-Alliance relations

**Codex - Council-Alliance relations**

Saying that Shanxi was a crucial factor in the Alliance-Council relations is as trite as declaring that relationship having a rocky start.

Matriarch Anyssia T'Vanthi, leader of the Council diplomatic team despatched to mediate between the turians and humans managed to force through a solution that, true to most masterful diplomatic treaties settling such conflicts, did more to flame up unrest at the home of the involved parties, sweep the causes of problems under the rug, and pretend that every issue has been settled civilly, the whole regrettable incident being simply a minor case of miscommunication running slightly out of control before cooler heads prevailed.

The Turian Hierarchy was compelled to publicly admit their overzealous reaction, pay an acceptable sum of credits, hand over drive core schematics and relevant data, cover the resettlement costs of the Shanxi survivors to Bekenstein, and hand over a percentage of their annual eezo income for the next five years (starting from 12%, going to 8%, then 4% for the last three years) to the Alliance.

The Alliance was required to hand over data pertaining to the secureness of YY fusion plants, refrain from using the technology on any future colony before Council scientists pronounce the technology safe for common usage. Council inspectors were to be allowed into the already-existing such plants on colonies near Citadel space. The Alliance was required to draw up a plan to patent and share their laser technology within the next four years. Providing medical assistance to the turians suffering from the Shanxi substrain of pancreatic cancer was also agreed on.

Humanity was also required to sign both the Citadel Conventions and the Treaty of Farixen, the latter officially as a Council associate member with a stipulation that allowed the Alliance a parity with asari and salarian numbers if within the next 20 years the Alliance was attacked by any member of the galactic community and did not receive Citadel aid.

To the surprise of maybe only Matriarch Anyssia, both the turian and human public opinion went berserk. The turians campaigned for finishing the task Desolas Arterius started, maybe allowing the humans to become a client race with rights similar to the volus, if the humans surrender - and if not, burn their worlds one after the other. The moderate advisors of Primarch Arminius advocated for loosening the ties to the Council itself, citing the peace as a betrayal of every principle and sacrifice the Hierarchy stood for.

The humans, of course, wanted turian heads, more reparation, longer and larger eezo concessions, the Turian Hierarchy reduced to associate status, revision of the Treaty of Farixen, and to tell the Council to forget about access to human tech advancements. The Terra Firma party, along with ultraconservative and radical elements in the Alliance Parliament, almost managed to topple the Ivanov government. When the vote of no confidence failed, the already-present civil unrest spilled over to rioting on several key planets (no hard evidence was found of Terra Firma's direct involvement); in some cases, the riots escalated into full-scale uprisings lasting well over a year before being put down by the military.

The political situation was somewhat stabilized thanks to the actions of High Praetor Quentius of the Turian Hierarchy, Councilor Tevos of the Asari Republics, Gorlow Zayor, the unofficial head of the Spectre Corps, Fleet Admiral Wilfred Hartmann, and the Shadow Broker itself, who argued that a further escalation of the conflict was detrimental to all parties involved. With proper information provided by the Broker to the Council representatives about some of their less-than-reputable actions as well as delivering data on something its Network found on the Rim (and the fact that its actions were offered without asking for compensation), the loudest voices were soon shut down, allowing for rhetorics employing cold pragmatism, extolling the benefits of interracial commerce, the need for cooperations for mutual benefit. Turians were somewhat mollified when Councilor Tevos rebuked Matriarch Anyssia, announced the intent of the Asari Republic shouldering a third of the turian eezo debt towards humans (the humans argued against this, and officially there was no asari support. Unofficially, a number of asari Matriarchs invested into turian companies and colonies). The humans were silenced when the Fleet Master pointed out that while they are bound in terms of how many dreadnoughts the Alliance is allowed, but the treaty contained nothing about carriers - and as the Shanxi data proved, human las-tech was effective enough against kinetic barriers for using it in fighters.

Human-turian relations were somewhat somewhat improved by the actions of Captain Andrew Cord during the Dis Incident of 2163, when he forced a Batarian cruiser to break off pursuit of a Citadel science vessel. This may have been one of the reasons for the Hierarchy agreeing to cooperate with Cord-Hislop Aerospace in 2180.

 **(Δ EYES ONLY)** The main decisive factor in the Council believing the Shanxi-Primus explosion and the resulting carnage was the data handed over from both the Irem Incident of 2085 and the Leng Excursion of 2087. The decision to share this data was met with heavy criticism from those opposing it, but Director K. Fuyutsuki went ahead with it, citing information supplied by the Noctis Laboratory. The reactions were partially predictable: the salarian STG detailed units to attempt information gathering, electronic surveillance, data mining, and appropriating human intelligence sources, all with very limited success. The asari Athamist cultists, mainly under the direction of Matriarch Benezia T'Soni adopted an extremely cautious probing of human prehistoric data, investigating religions and myths as well as embedding several asari into human society connecting to biotic technology and education.


	6. Interlude - Conversations with Spectres

**Citadel, Spectre offices**

Nihlus Kryik was starting to get frustrated - he much preferred direct action to all the admittedly necessary information gathering and skulking around that the hunt for Saren and his cronies so far entailed. In a way, he supposed he envied Shepard; the human was at least in the thick of the action. Still, his work with Tela Vasir and the 3rd Infiltration Regiment of the STG was enjoyable, especially due to the competence and attitude of Captain Kirrahe … and if he was honest with himself, he also enjoyed the company of his asari colleague.

His brooding was interrupted by Tela sashaying into the briefing room, and Nihlus took a second to appreciate how well the armor and movement accentuated the delicious waist of the asari. His mandibles opened in an amused smirk.

"So, you are going undercover with the Consort, Tela?"

"You wish, Nihlus. What's next, do we hold a turian-style counselling session?" the asari grinned, and looked over the other Spectre with frank appreciation. "You may not have the flexibility, but you might have the advantage of a longer reach."

The turian chuckled, and offered Tela a mug of coffee, which she accepted with a nod, before settling down, propping her legs up the table - a lioness seemingly at ease, yet he could see the tension in her posture, the readiness to spring into action even here.

"So, any idea what Kirrahe found?"

"Nothing yet. You know how much he loves showmanship, he definitely wants to impress us. Sometimes I think the spirits replaced parts of his brain with that of a human."

"Not a turian, Nihlus? Underneath the bravado and speeches, he is very much for rules and the military - just like some Spectres I know."

The door hissed open again, as two salarians entered. Kirrahe was expected, of course, but his companion was a surprise - neither of the Spectres thought that anything could prise their colleague away from his hunt for an elusive pair of extremely capable thieves.

"Bau, nice to see you." Tela's smile was genuine, as was the affection in her voice. Nihlus reflexively stood at attention, and nodded in greeting towards the salarian Spectre.

"I'm honored you spared time for the affair, sir."

Jondum Bau flashed a quick smile at his two colleagues, then stepped over to get himself an energy drink.

"Was on the Citadel anyway, Spectre Kryik, so not a detour." The salarian's eyes turned hard, flat. "Also, whole Saren fiasco deplorable, may even result in revision of Spectre Corps status. Not letting a single black sheep ruin the whole flock. Furthermore, if intel and speculations correct, escalation may become necessary against threat of unprecedented scale."

"With respect, Bau - do you really consider that there's merit in the theory presented by the humans, and this whole Voidsleeper mumbo-jumbo?" Tela's expression was incredulous.

"If humans are wrong, renegade Spectre still dealt with, Alliance gets seat at the table and permanent member within the Spectres, military industry and research spins up. Acceptable, and see no immediate or short-term negative consequences. If humans correct, Council stands by doing nothing, consequences potentially catastrophic. Also, Spectres would be seen as incompetent Blasto parodies. Unacceptable, especially the latter."

"Did...did you just made a joke? Nihlus, he was joking, right? Tell me you recorded it!" Tela's eyes were wide in overacted astonishment, her tone halfway between surprise and stifled laughter, then she laughed openly at seeing the turian's poleaxed expression.

"While Spectre Kryik seems to be incapacitated, I would like to inform Spectre Vasir that per standard procedure, the briefing is being recorded, thus Spectre Bau making a reference to Blasto will definitely be documented. Alas, many of my men - and surely other coworkers - will lose on the betting pool." Kirrahe was grinning openly, then schooled his expression into military formality when the other salarian turned towards him, and nodded.

"Humorous distractions aside, present your findings, Captain."

Kirrahe nodded, and handed out datapads, before checking the recordings and encryption of the room. Satisfied, he brought up his omnitool, and the viewscreen lit up. Kirrahe started pacing as he talked.

"We managed to map a considerable percentage of the network Saren Arterius and Benezia T'Soni built before going rogue. In light of Saren's long and illustrious carreer as well as the usual issues with investigating Matriarchs, I would advise all to assume that important assets have remained unfound. Still, as you can see the two of them control sizable amounts of influence in various companies."

"Captain Kirrahe, which companies would you consider as standing out from the generic patterns of acquisition?" Nihlus leaned forward, stance and manner distinctly predatory.

"Binary Helix for one. Both Saren and Benezia have invested heavily in it, in fact, they own the company via various strawmen. The company's stated profile of genetic engineering and biotech does not really fit in line with the other investments of either Saren or Benezia. Also, being located on Noveria increases the suspicion - I would theorize that at least three companies are independently trying to infiltrate the Binary Helix operations on Noveria."

"I bet at least two of those companies are asari." Tela chuckled darkly.

"Sucker bet, Tela. Captain, any idea about what exactly Binary Helix is researching on Noveria? Their security forces? External assets and sites?"

"On the datapad, Spectre Kryik. In summary, their security is mostly ERCS troops with standard corporate contract. At least two Blue Sun companies, likely as a quick reaction force, based on Noveria. Intel suggests CAT6 elements as well, also on Noveria."

"Interesting. Reason for Saren using human ex-military?"

"I theorize it's more Benezia's doing, Spectre Bau. Also, it may offer possibilities for them to gain Alliance intel and contacts, and scapegoating the Alliance for mishaps on Noveria."

The three Spectres perusing their datapads nodded, then Nihlus spoke.

"I believe we just might skip ahead to your assessment on the recent traceable activities of the renegades."

"Mercenaries with known link to Saren or people on his payroll have been identified hitting supply ships heading towards various known Prothean excavations. Our sources indicate that Saren also approached the Shadow Broker intent on purchasing information about various Prothean and earlier sites, but was soundly rebuffed." At that, Tela barked a satisfied, darkly amused laughter, that set Nihlus on edge, his instincts warning him of another apex predator nearby. Bau flashed another smile at them.

"Spectre Vasir, situation was handled satisfactorily? No loose ends?"

"Of course, Bau, you know me." Even the two salarians found the languid stretching of Vasir somewhat distracting.

"Any information on the Broker's stance?"

"The Broker considers Saren and Benezia a threat to stability, and as such, he indicated that his services will not be available for those two. Of course, that does not exclude members of the Broker's network trying to strike independent deals with the renegades, but I believe Fist's example should discourage those ideas."

"What about Benezia, Captain Kirrahe? Any information on her recent undertakings?"

"Matriarch Benezia sent numerous acolytes, commandoes, and adherents of her clan to procure intelligence sources - specifically, they are targeting researchers of Prothean studies and xenoarcheology. Interestingly, their efforts are not focused on Kahje, Talis Fia, or Mannovai, but on the University of Kathmandu, on Earth."

"Wasn't that…." Tela and Nihlus reacted in unison, then the asari yielded with a smile.

"Wasn't that the institute that financed Liara T'Soni's excavation on Therum?"

"Exactly, Spectre Kryik. Our preliminary investigations hint at high-level government involvement, meaning the Alliance uses it as cover for something. I must admit to feeling wary about that institution - we do not have hard evidence, but signs point at their staff being involved in the incidents known as Burning of Irem and Leng Excursion."

"Spirits below...you went back that far, dug that deep? Why?"

"Nothing concrete, Spectre Kryik. Just a feeling of something ominous. While us salarians were not directly involved, the events on Shanxi and especially their aftereffects have puzzled our scientists for a while. The fact that we still cannot make sense of the so-called Yutani-Yi reactors makes me nervous, and if the individuals involved in developing those things are connected to a likely government-sponsored institute, I get even more nervous. Let us be frank, Spectres. All the Council members have their little dark secrets, and likely this is one for the Alliance, possibly an internal issue for them. But I am not sure how internal it is, especially since Benezia seems to aim at infiltrating or subverting their research by every means short of a direct assault."

"Captain Kirrahe, is the Alliance aware of Benezia's maneuvers?"

"Possibly yes, Spectre Bau. If not, they soon will be, once Spectre Shepard gets back from Therum, and interrogates Doctor T'Soni."

The three Spectres seemingly communicated without words, as longtime comrades usually could before Nihlus nodded to Kirrahe.

"Thank you Captain. Continue with the information gathering, and give my compliments to your people, they are doing a superb job. Also, inform the human ambassador that Spectre Vasir and me would like to see him as soon as possible."

Kirrahe flashed a quick smile, saluted, and left.

 **SSV Normandy**

"Lay it on me, Doctor, you know I love bad news."

"The situation is not good, Commander. Negulesco and Crosby should be ready for light duty in a day - and you should keep them off the deployment list for about four more days. Unless you plan to head back to the Citadel or an Alliance medical center, where the bone regenerators are more effective. Laflamme is ready for light duty, should be deployable from tomorrow onwards. Tanaka and Jenkins will both need serious burn treatment if you want them back on their feet. I'm still keeping Kaidan in a coma." Helen Chakwas took a measure of dark satisfaction of the pain flashing through Shepard's face as she listed the injuries of the ground team. "Kai Leng is alive, don't ask me how. I'm keeping him in stasis, but he needs a fully equipped medical facility if he's to be on duty ever again. And for the record, Commander, that man creeps me out, even while unconscious and without legs."

"Yeah, he does that. Trust me, Doctor, you haven't seen the worst effects _Leng_ can have on people." The operative's voice was strained, his body language somehow haunted. Helen Chakwas winced inwardly, as she recalled the rumors she heard, the evidence she has seen about N7 training and operations.

"Shipside, the only serious wounded is Felawa, the rest got lucky - a collection of bruises, light concussions. We got really lucky up here. I would recommend keeping the concussed personnel off-duty for 24 hours, but that would leave us with half dozen people running the ship."

"For some reason, the Citadel seems a more and more likely destination. How is Lieutenant Williams, could you perform the checkup I requested?"

"She is well, Commander - still a bit high on adrenaline perhaps, and blaming herself for the wounded. Otherwise, the brainwave patterns, hormonal levels and cell activity are within the range you indicated as acceptable." Chakwas saw the Spectre sigh in relief, then he nodded his thanks.

"The specialists?"

"Vakarian and Wrex are fine - especially considering the stunt you pulled. Really, Commander, activating a mining laser within a dormant volcano?"

"Doctor, you know me. It was the quickest way." The woman nodded with a sad smile. "What about the others?"

"Both me and Adams tried to get Tali off-duty, or even light duty - she suffered a suit rupture, and likely infection, but after getting some tailored immunoboosters and medigel, she went back to her post. Sound like someone you know, Commander?"

"I will talk to her. If I remember correctly, quarians tend to follow the captain's orders when shipside. Our guest?"

"Doctor T'Soni is stable. Her arm would need a day more under the bone regenerators to fully heal, she needs to rehydrate and eat to replenish what she lost in that stasis trap you told me about. Currently, I put her up back there, in the lab." Shepard nodded, pleased with Chakwas' solution - the lab was layered with various protective fields and tech, all triggerable easily from multiple locations...and those defences included biotic suppressors and other, slightly more esoteric measures as well, even if the crew did not know about those.

"Is she lucid? Can we talk to her?"

"Yes, Commander - want me to check on her beforehand? And do you want to do the talk in there, or in the briefing room?"

"The lab would be better, I think - easier to clean up if things get messy." Chakwas shot an unamused look at Shepard, then raised her eyebrow as the Spectre remained serious.

"Come on, Doctor, we both know it may come to me having to put her down for security reasons. I do not think it likely, but with a biotic of her skills, I will not risk the ship. If you haven't, check the feed from Kai Leng's armorcam when the geth first attacked them. If she's fed, rested, and prepared, she just might be able to tear apart the ship with her biotics."

"I guess you want me to quietly monitor the situation in the lab, and activate the defences in case you are unable to do so." The operative nodded, then stepped towards the laboratory.

* * *

Liara was feeling much better - after being attacked by geth, watching coworkers and people of her expedition killed, becoming trapped in a Prothean security device no less, she considered the quick shower and less-than-fancy food served on the human warship as equal to any luxury she could have had in the best Thessian resorts.

It felt nice to move her arm again without too much pain - the human female, Doctor Chakwas, was very good at her job, and surprisingly knowledgeable about the needs of a recuperating asari. After feeling like an asari again, she took stock of her surroundings - obviously, a relatively well-equipped science lab, which even had storage containers and stasis fields similar to the ones she used on her various digs. A small worktable, with a powered-on terminal was drawing her in, and since she could not remember the doctor forbidding her access, she was soon immersed in her favorite pastime.

She was not surprised that without proper credentials, she could not access certain information, and she did not want to pry - not yet, at any rate. Liara was curious who came to her rescue and why - as well as find out more about what her mother and Saren were doing exactly.

Liara T'Soni was a trained, professional researcher, an academic with several scientific publications to her name. She knew how unreliable the extranet sources could be, was well aware of the need for not taking everything at face value, to properly contextualize her sources. Even so, she felt appalled and angry at the implications of her mother's involvement in the Eden Prime tragedy - already the publicly available information was enough to convince her that Detective Garrus had an acceptable reason for his suspicion regarding her. She absentmindedly answered affirmatively to the question she half-heard from the door.

She started, when she heard an amused chuckle from about a step away, and she reflexively stood up, trying to buy distance, the chance to dodge, and she stumbled over the bolted-down chair, as strong arms steadied her, and the human flashed a smile at her.

"Relax, Doctor, you are safe here. I have to say, you look better than last time I saw you."

She nodded, and leaned on the desk as the human released her, stepping away to avoid crowding her personal space, a small gesture she appreciated.

"Hello, Commander. I'm afraid we haven't been formally introduced yet, so I could not properly thank you for the rescue and offer my apology for the injuries and casualties..."

"Doctor T'Soni...Liara. It's okay, take a deep breath, relax. No need to go all formal on me - unless that's the way you prefer it. And for the record, I'm Commander Alexander Shepard, Systems Alliance Navy. Pleased to meet you, even in such circumstances." Liara felt a small shiver as the human used her name, and as she shook the human's outstretched hand in greeting, it was as if a spark passed over her skin.

"I understand you did not have much time to rest, but seeing as you are already doing some research, I think you can guess why we need to talk."

"Let me assure you, Commander, I am NOT my mother. She and I haven't met for decades, and even then, we had very different ideas. Why would she send geth after me? And that's not even considering that geth are operating outside the Veil..."

"As far as I know, you are considered a very prominent expert on Protheans, especially the collapse of the Prothean civilization." Liara looked at him surprised - a human soldier, aware of her admittedly earned but very specific area of expertise? The thought and seeming evidence that members of other races might have found her theories and results useful did warm her, and she could not suppress a small, satisfied - and perhaps a bit vindictive - smile. "Have you ever encountered something called the Conduit, perhaps in connection with the extinction of the Protheans?"

Liara's eyes half-closed, mind spinning through memories, studies, texts, before she shook her head.

"No, or at least I do not remember. Perhaps if you could provide more context, I could find out." The only answer she got was a bitter chuckle.

"If I could do that, Doctor, I would. Believe me, more context would make my job easier, too." The bitterness of the voice made Liara flinch, and yet at the same time, a small part of her wanted to reach out to the human.

"If you can give me time, and access to my usual research databases, I think I can provide you an answer, Commander. That way, we can both get what we want - I get to compensate at least a tiny amount for the suffering my mother and Saren caused on Eden Prime, and you get to keep something they want out of their hands." Shepard looked surprised for a second, then laughed, the sound pleasing Liara.

"So you are not completely naive, Doctor, that is good. Would you be willing to stay onboard as our guest, or would you prefer we drop you off somewhere secure?"

Liara considered for half a minute.

"I would prefer staying here, Commander. I am aware that I'll be considered and treated as a security risk, but if your task involves hunting for Prothean artifacts and sites, consider that I spent the past fifty years on digs and research, so I may be able to help. Also, while we are estranged, I may be able to provide you some insight into my mother's reasoning and perspective."

The Spectre did not deliberate long before nodding.

"All right Doctor, you make a good argument. But I have to ask - fifty years?" The human's eyes widened slightly. "How old are you exactly?"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, but I'm only a hundred and six, Commander. I know most asari consider me as barely more than a child, ignoring my research and theories, but I can assure you..." Her building tirade was cut short by a bitter chuckle from the human.

"Don't go all vengeful teenager on me, Doctor! I'm more angry with myself - the intel stated that Benezia had only a single daughter, and I assumed that she, eh, you would be around Matron age yourself."

Liara blushed, before hesitantly speaking up.

"I was a very late child - while unusual, it is not unheard of for asari Matriarchs to have children. And I suppose it's both flattering and frightening that a Spectre seems to have a dossier on me and my mother."

"Eh, just doing our job. Anyway, you mentioned your theories are usually dismissed. Why? I must admit I did not have time to read your publications before we got to Therum from the Citadel, all I got from skimming them is that you are deeply interested in the Prothean exctinction."

Liara smiled in pleasure - finally a chance to talk about her favorite topic, and to someone who may not discount it out of hand!

"I'm sure you are aware of at least some of the theories out there, Commander. I think you'd appreciate the difficulties in finding evidence to prove or disprove anything, especially since the Protheans, like other Precursors before them, left remarkably little behind - almost as if an external force took great pains to destroy any evidence of their existence. My research led me to the conclusion that this external factor may have been involved in galactic prehistory, long before the Prothean civilization arose. The pattern is subtle, there is precious little direct evidence - but you may consider Commander, that absence of evidence in itself does not mean something is not out there."

Liara started pacing, her hands gesturing as she spoke, her voice taking on the cadence of a lecturer in front of her students. Shepard leaned back, crossed his arms, an involuntary smile on his face - while his mind was racing down the path the asari outlined, underlined by his experience with the Beacon, and his training. Neither of them were aware of the small drop in temperature, or that the golden flecks in the human's eyes seemed to faintly light up.

"The galaxy, our civilizations, are built on a cycle of extinction - each race reaches for the stars, dominates for a short while, is violently cast down, and only ruins remain, like on Etamis, Zelene, or Carcosa." Liara did not seem to notice Shepard's flinch at that last name.

"Even the Protheans based their greatest achievement, the Citadel, on the knowledge gleaned from their predecessors, just like their mastery of the Relay Network. Can you imagine what would make such an advanced civilization vanish, practically without traces? Those are just a few issues I dedicated myself to find answers for...and perhaps out loud it does sound like a teenager's foolish fancy. "

"Well, yes, if the teenager in question has curiosity and drive in spades. For what's it worth, Doctor, I think it is a much worthier goal than the typical asari maiden's schtick of exotic dancing and violent gunplay."

Liara smiled, and shivered a little - maybe she ought to do something about the heating, before again concentrating on the human.

"And I think I may be able to help you a bit, Doctor. I have it on fairly good authority that the Protheans were indeed wiped out by an external force - and likely so were others before them."

Liara felt her eyebrows rise incredulously - a human soldier, in possession of such evidence? Her gaze sharpened, focusing on Shepard, studying him as if he were a precious artifact.

"A Beacon. You came into contact with a Prothean Beacon, and managed to extract information from it, while remaining functional."

"Were it so easy - the Beacon was damaged, and the vision it burned into my brain is not really easy to comprehend, I've been trying to sort it out since."

"Not surprising, Commander - those Beacons were designed to interact with Prothean minds, and even Matriarchs dedicated to studying them are finding it very hard to extract information in usable format. Considering you interacted with a damaged Beacon, I assume the vision was unclear, without focus, without reference point, correct?" The Spectre nodded, his stance betraying interest.

"Frankly, I'm amazed that you managed to salvage something from it at all, Commander. You must be a remarkably strong-willed individual to have survived that contact without your mind fracturing. Fascinating."

"So, when comes the part where you drag me off to your lab for dissection?"

"What? No, that's not what I meant, I wanted to say that I find you an interesting specimen for an in-depth study, and…."

Liara's blushing tirade was broken by the human's laughter.

"Relax, Doctor, I was only joking. I guess your time on digs did not lend itself to studying human humor, right?"

Liara smiled and nodded.

"Now, if you'll excuse me Doctor T'Soni, I should go. Oh, and I'll see about getting you access to those databases you mentioned."


	7. Chapter 4

**A/N:** after feedback over at Spacebattles, I revised the Feros bit and reuploaded the chapter, Feedback welcome :)

 **Citadel** **Presidium**

Despite the nausea, dizziness, and slight fever she was surely running, Tali felt happy. She and her ship (and thinking _that_ made her pause) defeated a geth flottilla without being pounded into scrap metal. Chief Engineer Adams wrote a recommendation for her that reduced her to a stammering, nervously babbling teenager, as she did basically nothing extra, every decent engineer would have realized the issue with the FBA couplings and gone to fix it, nevermind the possibility of being fried by the drive core pulses. And she was even more surprised when both Adams and Joker (as the pilot insisted on being called) praised her for the quick emergency cooling she did on the main cannon - it's not like the other engineers could not spot the pattern in the data, and take preventive action…

Anyway, her back and ribs still somewhat hurt from all the patting and hugs she got from Adams' crew, and even Shepard, as Captain of the ship had congratulated her (and that gesture made her very happy for having an opaque, combat-specced visor for her helmet) … before he told her in no uncertain terms what he would do to her if she stayed on-station any longer with her suit rupture. Still, she could figure from his tone and body language that it was much more praise and concern than an actual threat, and the official ID patch her suit sported after the events made her feel even more proud.

All in all, Tali felt that humans were not nearly as biased and racist as she learnt - or maybe it was just their professionals who looked at results and efforts first, and did not concern themselves with faces if the standards were met. She could hardly wait to be back on the Migrant Fleet, and try out some things the humans managed to implement, especially with the power routing from the drive core, and the precise focusing of their laser arrays. Of course, the Normandy's whole heat venting and emissions control could also be useful for implementation, but maybe she ought to focus on the filtration equipment first, she should really ask Adams about it, he seemed so knowledgeable, and always willing to offer advice while not discarding her own ideas, unlike…

"What are you doing here, _quarian_?" The flanging, cold turian voice so close to her made Tali reflexively shudder, before she looked up from her omnitool towards the three C-Sec officers accosting her.

"Eh, little suit-rat's probably drooling over the tech in the Emporium, or maybe trying to figure a way out to get her paws on someone's credit chit" one of the human officers moved closer, blocking her sight. Tali started to feel really afraid - her companions were close, true, but she had no way to let them know her predicament, and it seemed unlikely they would recognize the official patch denoting her as a crew member of the Normandy.

A huge shape loomed out from the Emporium, behind the three officers, and Tali, unseen behind her visor, smiled. The figure let out a sinister, low laughter that sent a chill down her spine, and she knew it was a friend.

"I suggest you clowns leave the Butcher's engineer alone, before he smears you all over the Presidium. Or go ahead and try something, I haven't eaten today, and feel a bit peckish." Wrex chuckled again, the sound made more ominous as his shotgun unfolded.

"Wrex, old man, don't make a hassle - you know unsupervised quarians are not allowed on the Presidium." The turian's voice dripped with scorn. "And put away that toy gun, before I haul your fat ass before the Duty Officer."

Tali's fingers flew over her omnitool, readying the necessary programs to fry these idiots before Wrex actually had to follow up on his threat. The krogan still looked bored, relaxed - but Tali did not forget the armorcam vids she watched about Therum, and shuddered a bit as Wrex again smirked.

"Why don't you idiots scan her nametag first, hmm? That way, I don't have to pick my teeth with your bones? Or are you really stupid enough to risk annoying a Spectre, and the Butcher at that?"

The two human officers looked at each other, before one of them ran his omnitool's search along Tali's suit tag, and his eyes widened, stance showing his fright.

"Marcus, it is legit...she really is on Spectre Shepard's crew..." The turian flinched at that, then reluctantly nodded towards Tali, turned to march away, then caught something at the edge of his vision, and went stiff. Following his gaze, Tali could not suppress a vindictive snort, as Shepard was leaning on the wall next to the Emporium. Her heartrate spiked as her Captain stepped closer, eyes on the C-SEC officers - then her eyes widened as she read the Spectre's stance and bearing, an apex predator itching for fight, circling its prey.

"Shepard...Commander. We have to be at the Embassy in ten minutes, and the nice officers found here no problem, so why not leave them to their duty?" The Spectre smiled at her words, but that expression would have been more suited to something from the void, preying on unsuspecting victims.

"Your engineer is correct, Spectre Shepard, we were just going, and I'm sure this was just a misunderstanding, and..." The human and Wrex still loomed closer to the C-SEC officers, and Tali was getting increasingly worried, so she did something she never thought to do before. A quick step brought her to Shepard's side, and her hand reached out for his. The Spectre stiffened at her touch, his eyes turning towards her, chilling Tali to her very core with the mad lust for blood and violence dancing in the gold-flecked gaze of the human. Shepard blinked slowly, eyes filling with warmth, then nodded.

"You got real lucky, officers. You might want to be more careful in the future."

Tali felt her breath ease as Shepard and Wrex walked with her towards the human embassy, and she tried to puzzle out why the Spectre was looking at her periodically with amusement in his eyes, or why Wrex seemed to be struggling with holding back laughter - weren't both males on the brink of unnecessary violence just a few minutes ago? Why were they so amused now, why all the grinning above her head when they thought she could not see them? Maybe she should check the Extranet for information on this behavior. She lifted her hands, to open her omnitool, and froze, almost hyperventilating.

"Something the matter, Miss Zorah?" Shepard's voice was amused, and Wrex snorted, clearly struggling to keep from laughing.

"Shepard. You are...you are holding my hand..." And then she seemingly teleported from between the two males, eyes wide behind her faceplate, heartrate spiking again. "I...that is, we...could you..."

"Relax Tali, breathe." He had the gall to grin at her, after making her flustered! The nerve of that man!

"Thank you Shepard, for the extremely useful advice, I'm sure you'll get a medal for it." For some reason, her vitriolic tone set both Shepard and Wrex off, and they walked on, laughing, while she tried her best to glare at them hard enough to make the two combust. Maybe she should look into that, integrating laser tech into her suit and helmet would make it more combat-efficient, yes, perhaps she should talk with Adams about the power needs, maybe ask Garrus for calibration hints...

 **Human Embassy**

"With all due respect, Councilor, my answer is no." Donnell Udina glared at Councilor Tevos' projection. "Spectre Shepard assures me that Doctor T'Soni is in no way complicit in Matriarch Benezia's actions, and frankly, his argument about her possible insertion as a mole being too costly does make sense."

"Careful, Ambassador. Would you repeat the same facing an asari Justicar?" The voice of the asari was smooth, cool, curious. Udina chuckled.

"Councilor, you do not want to go that way, trust me. What would the other Spectres think if a member of their team was so blatantly undermined by the Council? What do you think the Alliance's reaction would be if you tried practically abducting a tactical or possibly strategic asset? How would we outsiders consider the asari Matriarchs if you all but confirmed that they simply use even their children as disposable pawns? So spare me the theatrics, Madam Councilor."

"Very well, ambassador. The Asari Republics and the Citadel Council would both request that the Systems Alliance hands over Liara T'Soni for interrogation on her involvement about the Benezia Incident to the Justicars. Failing that, Spectre Shepard must keep the Council and the Justicars informed on Liara T'Soni's whereabouts and actions, and arrange for an interrogation session with a Justicar as soon as feasible."

"Very well, Councilor Tevos, I will inform Spectre Shepard about your request. Have a nice day, Madam Councilor."

Udina's professional, bland smile was replaced by a stern glare after the image of the asari faded, and he turned towards his guests. Liara and Tali seemed to wilt and fidget under the glare, while Shepard, Anderson, Hackett and Wrex remained impassive.

"I'm sorry to cause you so much trouble, Ambassador. I stated before to the Commander that I am willing to..."

"Stop right there, Doctor." Udina's voice was firm. "I may not like Shepard and soldiers in general, but that does not mean I consider them unqualified morons. If I did not find his arguments at least somewhat convincing, I would have handed you over on a silver platter. But, as I said to Tevos, Shepard's explanation makes a good amount of sense."

Wrex snorted.

"A politician with some sense and a spine. Watch out for this one, Shepard, he should go far." Udina glared at the smirking krogan, then the ambassador turned towards Admiral Hackett, who stood and started pacing.

"I understand the commander's reasoning, and agree with him, but if the Justicars persist or try to use force, we may not like it. I do not have enough specialists capable of taking on Justicars, especially since I'm assigning my N7 complement to Shepard." Hackett frowned, thought for a few seconds longer. "And no matter how much I'd like to, I can't give you more ships, Shepard. Reports from the Armstrong Nebula point at increased geth activity, and I am taking the fleet in to eliminate them."

"I understand, sir. Who and what can you give me?"

"You will get four additional frigates, a cruiser and a carrier while keeping the Normandy as well. We agreed to give command of the task force to Commodore Anderson. You'll get Captain Lee Riley's team of N7s, in addition to the normal Marine forces attached to such task groups. Director Bergman promised you half dozen specialists for the Normandy, they should be arriving tomorrow."

"And the ships, sir? When can we leave?" Tali coughed discreetly, and the two men turned towards her.

"Chief Engineer Adams assures you that the Normandy is ready to leave in four hours. The repairs have been completed, shipboard equipment restocked. I forwarded you the relevant lists and reports. Also, Doctor Chakwas reports that the marine complement of the Normandy is ready for duty, with Lieutenant Alenko ready for light duty." Tali seemed to shrink a bit as Shepard nodded and smiled at her.

"Commodore Anderson" Shepard's voice was happy "when are your ships ready?"

"Well, Spectre, we will be ready for takeoff tomorrow. My people are checking the inventories, and the embarkation of marines is expected to finish in seven hours. I'll forward you the relevant information within the hour."

"Doctor T'Soni, did you get access to those databases you mentioned?" The asari nodded.

"Yes, and by crossreferencing the data with the intelligence reports from Spectres Kryik and Vasir I managed to find a few possible sites worth checking." Liara smiled, pleased as the three officers and Wrex looked approvingly at her. Udina just nodded, then went over to his comm panel, where a priority incoming message was indicated.

"Care to enlighten us?" The asari triggered her omnitool, typed for a few seconds.

"I forwarded my search results to all of you. In conclusion, I estimate the next likely targets would be Eingana, Binthu, or Feros. Binthu has some Prothean buildings that have been marked for exploration in two months. Eingana is of course a Precursor ship graveyard, and the Exogeni colony on Feros has been running smoothly for about a year." Liara did not notice the minute wince of Hackett at the mention of Feros.

"Did you mention Feros, Doctor T'Soni?" the ambassador's voice was curiously flat, emotionless, his hands holding a datapad, and slightly shaking.

"Yes, I did, the human colony there has..."

"It has gone dark, after being attacked. They were jammed, their last message just reached us via the network. Here, read." Udina handed the datapad to Shepard, and both Hackett and Anderson stepped closer to the Spectre after he motioned for them.

Liara would long remember that moment, when the faces of the three hardened military men went ashen, and the datapad cracked in Shepard's fist.

"Tali, get back to the Normandy. Tell Adams that we take off within the hour. Wrex, go with her - if anyone holds her up, kill them, and let me worry about the consequences. Also, Tali - notify Chakwas to pack as much medigel as she can." The quarian, frightened, could only nod before she left. Wrex remained for a second longer, waiting for commentary from Udina. When the ambassador nodded towards him, he chuckled, the bloodthirsty sound chilling Liara to her bones.

"Anderson, I need your ships to follow me as soon as feasible." The newly-minted commodore nodded. "Admiral, if there are any C-type bombardment shells on our ships, I want some of them loaded on the Normandy, and ensure that Anderson's ships also carry at least a pair each." Hackett nodded, omnitool lighting up as his fingers raced across the keys. "Also, I'll need Riley's N7s, and if Susan's at Grissom Academy, you might want to alert her too, Admiral - just in case we fail."

"Ambassador, I'll send you a report on estimated damages as soon as we're at Feros. Meanwhile, can I rely on you to handle possible press leaks from Exogeni?" Udina nodded, grimly smiling, before the ambassador frowned, turning towards Liara, and the asari felt her blood freeze at the human's cold gaze, her body tensed to form a barrier, hurl a singularity, to defend herself.

"What about her? Are you sure she can be trusted, even with this type of information?"

"Sure? No, ambassador, with this type of information none of us are considered fully trustworthy. But I want her there, her insight and knowledge about Protheans may come in handy, not to mention having a biotic who can squash geth colossi with a gesture. Doctor T'Soni...Liara." Shepard turned towards her, datapad discarded, gold-flecked brown eyes locking on sky-blue. "This is your last chance to step aside. If you want to, the Ambassador can hand you over to your people. I'm not sure that would be worse than what we may encounter on Feros. And if you are coming with us, you'll need to swear secrecy about the operation."

Liara hesitated for a fraction of a second before extinguishing her field and nodding, stepping towards the Spectre. Her eyes flicked towards the cracked datapad, curious about what could engender such reactions in these humans. The screen showed only two words, obviously some kind of code. _**Opera Night**_.

 **Feros**

Ethan Jeong was not afraid - as the rising young star project manager of ExoGeni, he was terrified. He remembered his assignment to the Feros research colony as a huge success, a path to the Board, or even possibly politics. Now, all those dreams were slowly being eroded by a geth barrage. The observation post shook, its lights flickered as the kinetic barrier finally failed under the sustained bombardment. He still wondered how they could have gotten past all the early warning systems.

Jeong was doing his utmost to tune out the sound of the warning klaxons, the flickering red emergency lights, and focused on the security camera screens, which still worked - and considered why those were left to them, when the geth overwhelmed every other system, the human cyberwarfare defenses unable to keep up with the speed and sheer number of attacks.

The cameras showed him the black-armored asari approaching among the geth troops, as the huge walking machines spat green lightning at the defensive emplacements, reducing the cannons to melted, ruined wrecks one after the other. His people were trying to get control over the guns, or bring up the secondary kinetic barriers of the emplacements, but the geth were swarming the human systems - why would they even try to beat a race of machines, a race of _computers_ in electronic warfare?

He flinched as the geth melted their way through the hangar doors, and saw the internal defences melt under a withering barrage of plasma fire. His people were huddling in cover, the mercenaries likely hoping to survive until the geth actually tried entering the complex - that way, perhaps they could at least inflict some damage on them. Even he noted the geth fire becoming more sporadic, and he could see the defenders tense, aiming for the entrance, spoiling for a chance at stopping the machines.

It was not geth that entered. The first lithe, black-armored shape charged through the opening in a blue blur, her shotgun's roar masked by the boom of displaced air. The guards instinctively focused on her - not long, maybe half a second, or a second at most. That, however, was more than enough for the asari's companions. The hangar space became a chaos of gunfire, screams, bloodspatter and surges of biotic power. The outcome was unsurprising, though. The defenders were professionals, true, and several of them had served with or even been in combat for the Alliance or the Blue Suns at one point or another. That did not really prepare them to hold off personal retainers of an asari Matriarch - commandoes who had decades or centuries to hone their skills in both direct conflicts and the shadowy wars of assassination.

It took less than a minute, and the hangar was silent again. One of the asari was slightly limping, two or three other sported small dents and nicks on their armor where their barriers failed or they missed dodging a shot. The humans were all dead, and the commandoes made sure of that by shooting each body in the head. Jeong suppressed a shiver at the sight.

"Jeong. Jeong! Hey, Jeong!" His vision blurred, cheek hurting. Who was that woman again? Lizbeth someone-or-other.

"Yes, Lisbeth?" For some reason, she looked angry at hearing his flat, emotionless voice.

"They will be here in minutes, Jeong. Julia is keeping the internal comms open at the moment, but he says he can't keep up with the geth hacking for more than a few minutes longer. We got word to Zhu's Hope, and sent over all our data from the attackers."

"Yes, Lisbeth." Why was she telling him these things? Should he care? He will be dead or worse shortly - just when his carreer started to rise.

"The authority codes, Jeong. You have the codes to start the self-destruct process, and..." Her voice was interrupted by the low hissing and bubbling from the direction of the door, and she grabbed him, shoved him towards a terminal. "Set the self-destruct, Ethan, NOW!"

Jeong's fingers moved slowly over the terminal, and he managed to input half the code before a blue light splattered him over the wall. The observation post remained standing, the fusion reactors below still working, the databanks accessible.

* * *

Fai Dan swore as the comm line from the ExoGeni outpost went offline. So far, their barriers managed to withstand the geth barrage, though just barely, and thanks to Gavin Hossle's quick thinking, managed to reach a stalemate against the geth cyberwarfare. Even so, he was fatalistic - the overwhelming force of the geth would surely roll over them...if the containment of the Thorian held, that is. If not, well, he'd certainly wish for the geth to just kill him. His mood was not helped by the constant minute tremors from the Thorian tripping the sensors, or the steadily-strenghtening headache.

"Fai, we have a problem." Ian Newstead motioned him over. Fai Dan felt his blood chill at the sight. Geth were inside the reactor complex powering the containment.

"Can you reroute the power needs for the containment to our reactors?"

"You know that'll essentially kill off our barriers, right?"

"If it comes to that, wouldn't you rather take the geth than those creeps?"

Newstead nodded, his fingery flying across the haptic screens. The barriers and lights flickered, and for a few seconds, the control room seemed to fill with a heady, pregnant stench, a barely-there fog misted the air… then the sensors indicated that the containment field was back at full strength. Fai Dan nodded at Newstead, and went over to another of his crew.

"Arcelia, any chance for calling in backup?"

"No, Fai, the jamming is still in place - and not just the generic comm freqs, the Alliance and ExoGeni-specific ones as well. I can't get any response from the comm buoy or the satellites either, and that's not just the jamming."

"Wonderful. Why spend all the money on shiny new tech like this, and then it gets taken out by stupid flashlight-headed robots with simple ballistic strikes. Arcelia, remind me to paste the idiot who designed those satellites without military-grade barriers. Also, compile the data we have here and what we got from the ExoGeni crew into a burst packet. Just in case." Arcelia nodded, started typing. Newstead looked as if he wanted to say something, but Fai Dan shook his head.

"Status of the barriers?"

"Holding at 35%."

Before Fai Dan could react, the ever-present minute tremors from the Thorian below stilled, and the dark Feros skies were lit by the flash of an overload charge, as the geth redirected the full power of the occupied reactor into the already overtasked colony systems. Systems and VIs flickered and failed as the charge ran amok in the electronic veins of the complex. The barriers dropped, never to be raised again, as a geth barrage blew out the capacitors with pinpoint precision. Security bulkheads slammed closed as the emergency lights cast a bloodred glow over the humans.

"Containment field?" Fai Dan's voice was tired, resigned. The answer came from below, a deep, triumphant huffing roar felt as much in their bones as in their minds - just before the motion sensors inside the complex went berserk.

The access corridors leading towards the Thorian were gone, consumed and altered by the creature into a yawning fleshy maw that seemed to devour light, sound, and tore at the minds of the humans. Screams, moans, and insane giggling filled the complex, as the colony members' minds buckled under the pressure of the Thorian's presence. Training and built-in protections could help only so much - the sheer overwhelming presence of the incomprehensibly ancient creature drove too many humans over the edge of madness, never to return.

Then, the greenish mock-humans skipped from that abyssal portal, their movements and stance radiating overeager friendliness and need for closeness before they could wrap their spindly arms around the intended victim, leaning in for a grotesque kiss - then vomited a brackish fluid all over the victim's face and head. Flesh and steel bubbled and melted alike as the fluid rendered the humans digestible for the Thorian. Here and there, gunfire lit up the complex, as the more coherent staff members tried to defend themselves...or spare themselves the agony. Still, all considered, they were the fortunate ones.

The Thorian's awareness wormed its way around the mindscapes of the still-living humans, its vines probing and prodding at their sanity, their minds, seeking entry and domination. Very few managed to withstand it, or at least keep it together for a short while. Most cracked under the pressure, sanity and soul torn away, swallowed by the creature, leaving only empty husks, only fit for consumption. Then there were those whose will was strong enough to keep a semblance of their self together even under the Thorian's pressure. These unfortunate ones howled their agony while thrashing and convulsing on the floor, before standing up calmly, relaxedly - with a vibrant green light shining from the vines that seemingly thrashed behind their eyes.

Ian Newstead and Fai Dan stood with their back towards Arcelia, their assault rifles spitting short bursts at any approaching creeper, while the woman worked frantically on finishing the data packet on her terminal. Arcelia shrieked, blood running from her ears, hands clawing for her eyes before she went for her sidearm, aiming at the terminal. Newstead was faster, and put a burst through her skull as he kicked the corpse away from the terminal, before he himself was tossed aside by Fai Dan - and Newstead's blood chilled as he saw the shining, thrashing vines behind his friend's eyes.

Ian Newstead knew he was a dead man, but he still went for his rifle, bullets pinging off the floor behind him, slamming into his armor, blood leaking from his wounds. His aim was good enough to burst the Fai Dan-thing's head before the thing could finish him. Coughing blood, he crawled back to the terminal, using every trick he learned during his N4 training to keep his mind functional enough, sane enough to do his last duty. He did not realize that his eyes and ears were bleeding, or that the tortured, ear-splitting screams and wails stopped. He did not feel the unnaturally heavy, pregnant taste in the air, the stench of an overgrown, cancerous, ever-spawning, ever-multiplying thing. His world was focused on the terminal, and his need to reach it.

His fingers felt slow and clumsy as he composed the message he hoped would punch through the jamming - especially since it should be sent on an unknown, very special channel. A simple, short code phrase that has been used for over a century by certain human forces, becoming widespread among military personnel and xenoform researchers after the Burning of Irem and the Leng Excursion. The phrase always signified blood, madness, and mankind's struggle agains the uncaring, pitiless whims of fate. A phrase that always before indicated more than mere struggle, more than mere survival. For humanity, survival was not enough.

His lips peeled back in a last, savage, satisfied smile as Ian Newstead, former N4 soldier, slumped over the damaged terminal, that did manage to send the short code phrase with the necessary coordinates and signifiers into the comm network, where the Alliance would surely pick it up.

 **Opera Night**.


	8. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Feedback welcome - reviews are a very good motivator to write ;)

Quick answer to The Iron Snake's review: yes. And not the first one ;)

 **Theseus system, Attican Beta cluster** **SSV Normandy**

Tali'Zorah was worried. The tension on the Normandy was thick, all humans seeming constantly on edge, an undercurrent of tightly-controlled fear present in almost all of them. This, by itself, would not have worried her - no sane person would go into battle without at least some degree of fear. No, her worry was born from how different her crewmates behaved compared to the approach to Therum. Grim determination suppressed the mirth and casualness she came to associate with the crew. Even Adams showed signs of the strain, as he was much more snappish and exacting with his department.

The quarian was also apprehensive about the new bombardment shells the humans rushed on-board, literally minutes before taking off. She of course familiarized herself with the standard and military warning signs humans used, but these shells had unfamiliar markings of them, similar to a flame-centered circle inscribed within a slanted star. For some reason, just looking at the sign and the shells themselves made her skin crawl, and somehow people, colours, everything seemed duller around the things.

Tali also noticed that the only person who showed more than a brief enthusiasm about the shells was Ashley - sure, Wrex and Garrus displayed some professional curiosity and joy at the likely firepower, but only the female Lieutenant seemed happy about the things. Even Shepard was, at best, grimly accepting towards the shells, and that, more than anything, was enough for her to avoid the things as much as possible.

The young engineer frowned as her diagnostics spotted some irregularities in the drive core - granted, they were stealthed before entering the system, but the readings did not fit into any overload or stress profiles they had on the Tantalus core. She debated calling Adams, then decided against it - the Chief Engineer was sleeping, and she'd rather have him rested and ready when they reached Feros orbit, and possible combat. Her omnitool lit, she checked the duty roster, and sent off a quick alert. Charles Pressly arrived a few minutes later.

"Report, Engineer Tali'Zorah."

"The drive core is showing some unusual readings that do not fit in with the current stress levels. Chief Engineer Adams made a standing order that any irregularities have to be reported to him, but seeing as he went off-duty not long ago and the ship would benefit him being rested when in combat I thought that..." Pressly's cold officer mask cracked with his slight grin.

"You did well, Engineer. Adams would not have minded, but you are correct." The XO studied the data, then sent a core pattern to Tali from his omnitool. "Continue monitoring the irregularities, and if you even think that they come close to the pattern I just sent you, immediately alert the ship, and shut down the core."

"But...shutting down the core just like that will leave us...you don't just shut down a core, sir! You just don't!"

"Human emergency protocols likely differ from quarian ones, Engineer. That does not mean we do it without reason. You have your orders." Pressly nodded to her, then marched off.

Tali continued her vigil, attention split between the drive core readings and analyzing the pattern Pressly sent her. She did not understand why, but the more she looked at it, the more she felt it was not a mere core pattern, but more like the heartbeat of a vast, monstrous beast. She shivered and spun as she felt eyes on her - but she was alone, with only the pulsing drive core as company, its cool blue radiance now felt somehow eager, malevolent to her. Tali started humming her favorite song to take her mind off the odd thoughts coursing through her brain, but still she could not fully shake the feeling of _something_ watching her from the Tantalus core.

* * *

Ashley Williams was excited. She would likely get another chance to kick some alien ass, and prove that the Williams family was still a force to be reckoned with - and what's even better, she had a real chance to see C-type bombardment in action. Well, hopefully not first-hand, she did not really want to be at ground zero for that - she was not that curious. Still, she was on the ship commanded by the operative who did use C-type shells on aliens without getting crucified by the Alliance leadership.

She was surprised that other marines, other personnel did not find the shells fascinating - then again, she supposed others were not raised by their grandfather's stories about enacting a Fairfield Protocol. Ashley thought that this time, she would finally get to watch an alien burn for daring to attack humanity, for daring to mess with her, her family, and her marines on Eden Prime. Their voices still came back to her sometimes in the night, urging her to take revenge, to shoulder the blame, to shed blood, to find herself a suitable mate…

Ashley shook her head to clear it, as images and thoughts of Shepard came unbidden but not unwelcome. She did pay close attention to Shepard - of course, who wouldn't, especially after seeing him in action? The man was a legend, a dark and brutal one, but she knew that a lot of marines like herself would still follow him, as he never asked anything from his men that he himself would not do … and he always got his task done.

Except perhaps now, she mused. The Shepard of Eden Prime would not have given the time of the day to some alien, nevermind that said alien looked like a woman. She could understand the crew taking the quarian girl under their collective wing - the girl was ridiculously zealous in her work, did not complain, and practically exuded an aura of little sisterness, something she supposed was familiar not just to her. And of course Tali was not related to one of the Eden Prime instigators.

Seriously, what the hell was Shepard really thinking, letting the asari stay on board? Well, ok, maybe she could understand why he let the blue hussy stay on; he did have a point that if that bitch of a Matriarch wanted her daughter, they would have to deny her. Still, to consider the asari as a member of the crew? An untrained, inexperienced geek? Seriously, was Shepard that suicidal? Or was he trying to impress her, wanting to perform some other dashing rescue, and get close to the asari? Why did he spend time with her, visit her, talk with her? What information did she have that Shepard set aside his planning for?

Ashley scowled, the rifle she was assembling creaking with protest as her hands squeezed it. Surely, she was wrong, an N7 could not be influenced by simple looks - and it's not like she herself did lack in that department! Was the man perhaps flattered or oblivious at the crush the asari seemed to feel towards him, judging by how she acted around the operative? Could Shepard still remain objective enough to put a bullet in the asari's head, or her mother's head if it was necessary?

The lieutenant shook her head, trying to dismiss her thoughts as unworthy, especially considering what she knew about N7s in general and Shepard's old team in particular, thanks to her upbringing. She again shook her head, took a few deep breaths to focus herself. As Alenko was still restricted to light duty, she guessed that leading the marines would be her task, and that was something for which she needed her full focus. She would not fail, or let her ghosts down. Perhaps she could check the bombardment shells one last time, just to feel that power, that violence-dripping silence they seemed to exude.

Ashley finished her weapon maintenance, then stood and left for the bomb bay. If others noticed the smile she wore or the skipping in her steps, they did not comment on either.

* * *

Kaidan Alenko was not happy. He understood all too well why Chakwas wanted him on light duty. Rationally, he understood why Shepard wanted him to remain on the Normandy. Neither of those things meant he had to like it. His marines would go into battle, and he could, at best, watch. Always a galling thing, especially on an operation such as this promised to be. Still, he would do his duty. He entered Shepard's cabin and nodded to the Spectre and Pressly, and noted how the XO's face was even colder than usual.

"Alenko, sit. I have some light reading for you, Pressly already went through it." Shepard handed him a datapad, and Kaidan began to read it. It was not long, obviously an extract from an encrypted source, but still, it said enough. He only needed a few minutes before his accusing eyes turned towards the operative.

"Sir, that's...insane is a mild word for it."

"ExoGeni got results the Alliance needed. And besides, the personnel were all volunteers, the test subjects criminals. No huge loss."

"Even so, sir - if half the implications are true, then we'd better bombard it from orbit, instead of going down there." Alenko noted Pressly's nod, obviously the XO reached similar conclusions.

"The Thorian has something Saren and Benezia wanted. We need to find out what that was, and that's not something I'd like to try from orbit. Trust me, I don't like the idea of a combat drop either." Shepard's voice was grim. "And there's a chance we still could reestablish the containment field and deal with the side effects on the ground."

"Commander, that's...Shepard, if you are serious about that last part, you might be considered a certified madman. Sir." Alenko's eyes widened as he realized he spoke his thoughts aloud. Pressly barked a short laugh, but nodded.

"Alenko's right, Commander. Then again, N7s are held to a different standard of sanity than us, I think."

Shepard's smile was bitter as he answered.

"Still, that's what we'll do. Alenko, brief the Marines, they'll be dropped at the ExoGeno observation post; their objective is to secure the site, power on the reactor, and get the containment field going. They'll get the Mako, it might be useful for repelling assault, or demolish strongpoints in case the geth dug in."

"In case, sir? Why wouldn't they do that? The geth had more than a day to prepare..."

"Think, Alenko. Would the Thorian have allowed them to do that?" Kaidan shook his head. "Ensure that the marines have fully sealed armors, and have them pack extra medigel and omnigel. I recommend having a flamer for each fireteam, but feel free to come up with a loadout yourself. Here's the relevant data I can give you."

Kaidan saluted, and started studying the datapad the operative handed to him, while part of his mind was still listening on the conversation.

"Sir, that idea sounds insane, even by N7 standards." Pressly's voice was worried.

"I don't see another choice, XO. You said Moreau is a good enough pilot to pull such a maneuver, and Adams said he managed to modify the lifepod."

"Yes sir, but Engineer Tali'Zorah found something in the core." Pressly handed his datapad to Shepard, whose face seemed even bleaker as he read it.

"Does she know what it may signify?" The XO shook his head. "Good, keep it that way."

"Who are you taking on-site, Commander?" Kaidan asked. "Based on this data, it seems you want all marines at the outpost."

"I'll take Wrex and Liara."

Pressly and Kaidan shared a look, neither of them wanting to tell their honest opinion on their commanding officer's sanity.

"I have my reasons, gentlemen - and you have your orders." The two men saluted, turned to leave, before the Spectre stopped them.

"One more thing. VI, record." Shepard waited for the affirmative response before continuing. "In the absence of Commanding Officer Alexander Shepard, the following personnel of the SSV Normandy are authorized for conducting operations up to and including C-type bombardment against Feros: Executive Officer Charles Pressly, and Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko. The authorization is valid for four hours, counting from the Commanding Officer's departure. End recording."

The two officers saluted Shepard, then turned to leave.

"Alenko, a word." Pressly nodded towards Kaidan, then left. The lieutenant turned towards Shepard, who fiddled with his omnitool.

"I'll send you some biometrics to monitor. Arrange for at least two reliable marines to have access to this. If the readings deviate from within the indicated range, they are to terminate Lieutenant Ashley Williams with extreme prejudice."

"Sir...Commander, why, what..." The operative's face turned into a cold, emotionless mask, but Kaidan fancied he saw a glimpse of regret in Shepard's eyes.

"You have your orders, Staff Lieutenant. Carry them out." Kaiden saluted, turned, and left.

* * *

Wrex was annoyed. He never liked anyone interrupting his meals, especially not before a promising fight. He stepped into Shepard's cabin, and loomed over the Spectre.

"What do you want, Shepard? I'm hungry, and you don't want to interrupt a krogan meal without good reason."

"Liara."

"What about her? Need tips on courting asari?" The huge krogan smirked, and Shepard barked a short laugh.

"Thanks, I'll manage somehow." The human's face went cold, impassive, as he slid a datapad towards Wrex. "What do you think about her abilities?"

The old warlord spent a minute studying the footage and considering his past experiences.

"She has potential. Given time, she'll be much stronger than your garden variety asari Matriarchs." The krogan squinted at Shepard. "I can take her, if that's what you're asking. So could you, for that matter. What are you after, Butcher?"

"She'll come with us to Feros."

Wrex laughed.

"I knew I liked you for a reason, Shepard - you court your females like a krogan." He enjoyed the poleaxed look on the human's face before continuing. "I do not know much about this Thorian thing, just what I could quickly find on the Network. What I suspect though is that it's a nasty customer. Do you really want to take an untrained asari down there? If you need firepower, why not take your other mate with us, Williams or whatever her name is?"

"Liara knows more about the Precursors than anyone I could get here in time. She has a serious biotic potential. Both will likely be useful down on Feros." Wrex nodded, looking thoughtful.

"You might have a point there, Shepard. Anyway, that's still something that your marines could tell you. Out with it, Butcher."

"How much do you and the Broker know about what us N7s do at times? How much do you know about Opera Night?"

Wrex laughed, the sound low, ominous.

"I'm not sure how much the Broker knows. I have seen reports, I checked about from where your little group descended from. I have seen and killed things that not even you have met - remember, little human, that I already warred among the stars while your kind still fought with sticks and swords. Do not think that you humans are the only ones who know about the darkness beyond the void, and what lairs there. Do not believe that your struggle on that insignificant speck of a planet you call your home is unique or special!" Blue light outlined the fists of the krogan, biotic flames creeping up his arms, his eyes glaring balefully at the Spectre. "I have fought rachni. I fought what you monkeys call the descendants of the many-angled ones. I'm still here. They are not."

Shepard opened his mouth, closed it, and simply nodded, before standing.

"Can I consider you part of my krantt, Warlord Urdnot Wrex? For this battle, if not longer?"

The old krogan's face twisted into a painful grimace, his eyes closing for a second, then he nodded.

"You can, Shepard." The human's posture relaxed, before handing a datapad to the krogan

"Here's what I could piece together about the Thorian, and how I plan to do the insertion. I'll see you at the pod, Wrex."

The krogan skimmed through the datapad as he left, and the mess hall echoed his deep laughter.

* * *

 **Feros**

"By the Goddess, Commander...I'm sorry, but are you insane?" Liara's peace of mind was not helped by the krogan's booming laughter, or the annoying raised eyebrow of the human.

"Depends on your definition, Doctor."

"This is not a joking matter, Commander! Your plan is insane, reckless, ill-considered, irresponsible, and...and insane!"

"Which part, Doctor T'Soni?" The human and krogan sharing a grin made Liara growl.

"The whole lunatic idea of shooting a modified lifepod as a makeshift mass accelerator round at a Precursor from orbit! And instead of taking one of your marines, you plan on taking me, an archeologist! Do you plan on me distracting the thing with a lecture on Protheans, Commander?" The asari's voice was rising, and blue motes of biotic energy sparked alongside her arms.

"Don't worry, princess. The human's just courting you, krogan style." A crash signalled Shepard falling down from where he was leaning against the wall. Liara's mouth hung open, her mind trying to decide whether to blush or to splatter the old krogan all over the bulkhead.

"Wrex, I swear to God if you make another remark like that, I'll strangle you with your own tongue." Shepard's warning was somewhat undermined by how he was trying to get up from the floor.

"Eh, she stopped, didn't she?" Just for that smug tone, Liara wanted to hurl a singularity at the krogan to see him flail and float.

"Doctor T'Soni...Liara." She blinked, as Shepard's hand gently closed around her raised, blue-lit wrist, pushing it down. "You are right, the plan is insane, and more than likely, so am I. Still, we need to go down there, and I'm afraid it has to be us three."

Liara shivered a bit at the human's touch, the emotion in his voice. It was not an unpleasant feeling. She focused on Shepard, trying to recall her mother's lessons on gauging the sincerity of another person. Admittedly, she did not have much experience in that area, even less with humans - but the quiet intensity of the operative's voice sounded convincing. The fact that Wrex also seemed serious helped. The human went on speaking.

"Liara, we need your knowledge down there. Wrex and I have both experience with similar situations, and I'm sure you are aware of some of the dangers one in your profession may face. Trust me, I'd like to leave you up here, safely - but chances are you can spot something we are not familiar with. And if you did survive decades while travelling from excavation to excavation, you are not a pushover, believe me." The human grinned. "Hell, after Therum, anyone thinking you cannot take care of yourself is an idiot."

Liara's focus was torn from Shepard as she became aware of Wrex again when the krogan's bloodthirsty chuckle echoed in the briefing room. She could feel herself blushing; fortunately, neither of her companions mentioned it. The asari took a deep breath and nodded at Shepard.

"All right, let's do it, Commander."

"Glad to have you on board for this, Doctor." She guessed she was not supposed to hear the man murmuring something about an elevator to hell, going down.

* * *

In other circumstances, Liara would have been ecstatic to set foot on a Prothean world, nevermind a world which was home of an even older creature. Feros and the Thorian however, made her feel only revulsion. Already when climbing in the lifepod, she could feel the wrongness reported by the dispassionate sensors - the unnatural, ever-spreading circle of life seemed to pulse behind her eyes, pressing on her mind, her soul, foreign concepts and ideas flitting on the edge of her consciousness, her body experiencing... _urges_. She guessed Shepard felt something as well, his eyes closed, lips mouthing some kind of mantra as he meditated … while on the opposite side, the old krogan warlord still snored fiercely, the sound echoing in the tight confines of the lifepod. Liara envied both of them for their apparent calmness. She was not a commando, or a huntress, nevermind an Eclipse sister, to feel calm or joy in battle! Her passion was in unearthing and understanding the past, uncovering the giants on whose shoulders the galactic civilization could stand on…

The lifepod was heating up, as it hurtled towards Zhu's Hope and the Thorian, trailing flames in its wake. Liara's eyes widened, her mind reeling as both Shepard and Wrex sat up straight, the krogan's hand going for his gun, the human grabbing some trinket at his side.

"You...you felt it too, right? The...invitation?" She blushed, unwilling to fully voice the images evoked in her brain by the Thorian's message. Her companions nodded, Shepard smiling at her sadly.

"So, Shepard - are we walking into the trap?" Wrex's grin would have made any apex predator shiver and slink away. The human nodded, and Liara thought his answering grin radiated almost the same bloodlust as the old krogan's. The sight made her shiver.

"So am I the only one who has doubts about walking into a trap like this?"

"Relax, T'Soni. We knew that the Thorian would spot us eventually - this way, it may be curious enough not to attack us immediately. And if it lets us close enough..." The krogan's low, menacing chuckle finished the sentence, as the lifepod's mass effect field kicked in, slowing their descent to a survivable level. A minute later, the lifepod crashed on the surface of Feros.

Wrex stepped out first, followed by Shepard and Liara. The krogan's stance was alert, and Liara could feel the subtle pulsing of his readied biotics - and her respect for the old warlord went up a notch, as even her mother would have had to concentrate hard to ready that much power without her corona betraying her. Shepard was also tense, and seemed to emanate a slight chill, a welcome effect in the oppressive heat of the colony.

Well, she supposed it was not a colony any longer. The buildings were covered in a pinkish-green organic material, the sounds coming from them disturbingly similar to what she heard from sentients digesting food. Vine-like veiny appendages crisscrossed the ground, which itself felt disturbingly soft, fleshy, _alive_. Her body shuddered, as the same urges she felt during the descent came back, stronger, forcing her to actually concentrate on getting herself back under control. She could see Wrex tensing for a second, a deep growl sounding in her comm as the krogan brought himself back under control. Shepard took a step towards her, hand half-raised, before his eyes narrowed, his head turning towards the gaping maw of a descending tunnel - blood vessel? nerve? _digestive tract_? - with the slow, menacing precision of a traversing cannon.

He glared at the passage, his mouth moving beneath the helmet, but Liara could hear nothing - then she felt the pressure, the urges receding a bit, becoming nothing more than a background note. The whole colony shuddered slightly, fetid vapors emanating from numerous orifices, and her audio receptors picked up moaning, groaning sounds. The trio descended into the dank, eerily-lit depths of the Thorian.

The walls of the tunnel pulsed with a steady beat, emanating a soft, greenish glow. Indistinct shapes writhed and protruded from the organic morass, reaching for them, pushing out from the flatter surfaces or the tumorlike, bulbous protrusions dotting the surfaces of the tunnel. Liara found herself sidling closer to Wrex and Shepard, her senses and sensors almost overflowing with the abundance of life, a veritable overload of fecundity. In other places, other times, she would certainly examined the walls, the protrusions more closely, if only to be certain what exactly they were made of. She would have pondered on how this organic mass could have consumed a whole colony basically overnight, without any trace of the previous occupants. She would have relished the chance to interact with something even more ancient than the Protheans she considered one of the pinnacles of galactic prehistory. But there and then it was all she could do to keep from vomiting, control her nausea, and avoid indiscriminately lashing out with her biotics.

The deep, rhytmic, huffing sound, the drumlike beat was becoming stronger, along with the fetid, overwhelming stench of the organic mass of the Thorian. The trio reached a ledge overlooking a deep fissure, and the pressure on Liara's mind felt almost crushing, as the overwhelming, alien, _old_ presence of the chamber's inhabitant washed over them. The thing hung slightly higher than them, anchored to the fissure's walls by numerous thick vinelike growths, while another, even bulkier vine reached down to the lightless depths of the fissure, presumably connecting to the main mass of the Thorian. Half-consumed or half-formed shapes moved around the chamber, moaning as they consumed and were consumed by the creature. The main mass - head? brain? - in the chamber was sprouting a beaklike growth towards them, the maw opening, the stench of rotten meat and plant matter wafting from it. A curtain of tentacles spiralled out, mucus pooling beneath them, as the huffing, retching sound intensified.

"We might need a bigger gun, Shepard." Liara stared at Wrex, jaw hanging open at the nonchalance in the krogan's voice.

A lithe form dropped to the ledge from the mass of tentacles, the shape distinctly humanoid, female, _asari_. Liara's eyes widened as she recognized her, despite the greenish skin.

"Shiala?"

The green asari's eyes opened, and Liara felt revulsion as she saw the luminous green vines writhe behind her childhood mentor's eyes. The thing's voice was resonating strangely, the sounds scratching at their minds and ears alike.

"Shiala no longer. You stand before and within us. You offered bargain to the Old Growth, human." Wrex and Liara glanced at Shepard simultaneously, saw the operative's eyes narrow. "You broke that bargain when you cut us off from ourself. You failed to protect ourself from the machines. We saw no reason not to bargain with them."

"Machines? The geth were here?"

"Machines and pretenders came before us, led by a Mother of her race." The Shiala-thing gestured towards Liara. "She sought information, gave us back to ourself in return. What can you give me to match that, and to convince me not to consume you where you stand?"

The thing's voice was rising, and in response, the chamber's walls pulsed, moved, shapes pushing through the organic mass, creatures emerging, their forms a mockery of humans, green-skinned, grotesque parodies.

"Your continued existence." Shepard's voice was flat, certain, cold, golden sparks danced beneath his visor. Wrex chuckled, the sound low and ominous, as Liara tensed, ready to shield them, to lash out.

Insane giggling from the creepers provided a counterpoint to the Shiala-thing's booming laughter - then all was drowned out in the roar of a shotgun, as Wrex blasted off the Shiala-thing's head and chest. The central mass of the Thorian trembled, a keening moan echoing around the fissure, the creepers staggering for a second. Liara's biotics flared in a blinding blue light, as she dropped to one knee and formed a shield-dome with a gesture, just in time to repel the greenish biotic field slamming into it.

She screamed then, as the Thorian ceased holding back its presence, the mind-ocean of the Precursor flooding her senses, trying to enter her mind, make her its own, and she understood why Benezia came here, what was the likely fate of Shiala, and what the thing wanted with them. Despair, terror, hope warred within her, urging surrender, projecting the glories of being a mother, a progenitor of the new breed, a fountainhead of discoveries. Liara wasn't aware of her eyes swirling with darkness, the blood dripping from her aural cavities and the corners of her eyes. Her barrier wavered, contracted, the creepers edging closer, giggling, reaching for her, she felt as if worms were burrowing beneath her skin, inside her mind. With a shriek of rage and hate, she pulsed her biotics, sweeping the ledge clear, pasting the creepers all over the fleshy walls of the chamber, some falling down to the lightless depth below. She stood, her eyes flashing blue, as she again called on her biotics.

Wrex grunted as the pressure crashed on his mind, trying to drown him in hope, in promises of glory, of the krogan rising again, the genophage no longer threatening their existence. He saw the masses of healthy krogan newborn, the crying females, the ecstatic males. He saw his dreams fulfilled, his kind clawing itself back from the road to extinction. The old warlord roared, the voice shaking the chamber, the naked bloodlust and fury in the sound making even the emerging creepers pause. The vision of the krogan tinted red, as the familiar blood rage surfaced again, and he did not suppress it - instead, he focused his anger, as the world around him snapped into clarity, everything slowing down. Urdnot Wrex, Warlord of his clan, vanished in a boom of displaced air and blue light, as he tore into the main mass of the Thorian.

Shepard grimaced as the Thorian's mind tried to overwhelm them, the tidal waves of alien thoughts and desires seeking purchase on his mind, his soul. He focused inwards, dove within towards the warm golden embers deep within himself. Hoarfrost spread out from him as his eyes sparked gold, his mind racing through the old, embedded rites and protocols, looking for the correct one. He could feel the Thorian's essence reaching into the lightless depths below, beyond the constraints of the normal, sane universe, as the thing prepared to force its own home reality or the attention of its predecessor on them. Shepard fell to one knee, mouthing syllables not meant for human voice boxes, his concentration on disrupting the Thorian's efforts. Dimly, he was aware of the gunfire and maelstrom of biotics around him, as Liara and Wrex fought desperately to keep the creepers at bay

Liara could feel the tremors under their feet intensifying, the organic mass of the Thorian retreating from the cold emanating from Shepard. Her eyes flashed as she hurled singularity after singularity into the incoming creepers, using her SMG to handle the ones that somehow gotten past the barrage, and managed to avoid Wrex. Intellectually, she knew that krogan, especially ones as old as Wrex, could be a match even for a combat-inclined asari Matriarch, but she didn't fully understand it yet. The old warlord was proving it now, fighting in grim silence after that earth-shaking roar, his shotgun turning creepers into chunks of burned masses, his biotics hurling them into the walls or each other, when not detonating her singularities in sprays of Thorian biomass. She gritted her teeth, and focused again, ignoring the pounding ache in her skull, her trickling blood, and the way Shepard's unheard words seemed to twist the chamber, sending ripples like heat haze across her vision.

Wrex saw the Thorian's beak convulsing, flooding mucus pooling beneath it, as another slender asari-thing dropped down in slow motion. He lazily backhanded the creeper trying to vomit its acid over his shoulder, then vanished in a biotic blur. The newborn asari-thing could only started to raise its hand, its body lighting up in greenish-white light as the krogan appeared before her, and a plated, scarred forehead crashed into its face, sending it staggering over the precipice. The warlord's stepped forward, weaving between the grabbing tentacles, and discharged its shotgun directly into its beak. The Precursor roared, its anger and pain shaking the whole colony, almost toppling the asari and the human over into the fissure. Wrex tore out a tentacle reaching for them, before stomping over to kill more of the creepers.

Shepard sensed another presence from within the struggling Thorian, something that tried desperately to claw its way out from the mind of the immense Precursor, fighting towards him through the mental morass flooding around them. He was very much aware of the dangers, but some spark, some familiarity pulled a fraction of his attention toward the presence, and his eyes snapped open in realization.

"Wrex, Liara, we are leaving!"

The operative charged towards a tunnel, making sure to grab Liara's hand when the asari was a second slower to react. Wrex stomped behind, shotgun blasts and biotic fields alternating behind them, as the trio ran. Frost limned the walls, marking their passage, keeping the grabbing shapes away for the few moments required to pass them. Liara lost track of time and space in the blur of veiny, tumorous corridors, green-eyed Shiala-things, giggling, skipping creepers, gunfire, biotic flares, and cold, golden sparks. She felt her blood dripping away, knew not where and how she was wounded, hoped that her suit was still somewhat sealed, saw that Wrex looked half-torn apart, a grinning, bloody warrior-god from primitive mythologies.

Shepard stopped before a large tumorlike pod, and Liara tensed, waiting for the thing to shudder and vomit forth a creeper or a Shiala-thing. Instead, Shepard's omniblade flashed, the organic mass parting, steaming away, and a naked, real asari fell out, coughing, spluttering, her body covered in acid-burns and blood. Liara tried to step closer, to offer aid, but Shepard pushed her back, grabbing the moaning asari, lifting her, lifting _Shiala_.

"Come on!" And the operative _moved_ , blurring towards another tunnel, hopefully towards the surface. Liara and Wrex followed, panting, desperately weaving through or stomping over the creepers standing in their way.

Their lifepod was still there, and Shepard hurled the mewling, half-conscious Shiala inside, before tossing in Liara, before he and Wrex jumped in. The lifepod's thrusters flared, and the small craft lifted off from the colony, before hurtling away, deeper into the atmosphere of Feros, towards the planet's surface, as the mass of the Thorian tried to engulf them, its mind pressing close on them, promising, cajoling, threatening, battering...

"Normandy, this is Shepard, commence bombardment on Zhu's Hope, C-type shells authorized!"

Four blazing trails arch through the atmosphere, falling towards Zhu's Hope. The impact itself buckles the ground for miles, the shockwave buffeting the lifepod. Magma spews forth from the fissures torn by the bombardment shells, painting the Thorian and the Feros skies a hellish red. The Precursor's bodymass boils away partially, its scream of pain and fury tearing into ears and minds alike as it convulses in torment. In orbit, Garrus Vakarian nods grimly, the effects in line with what he knew of typical bombardment shells. Tali'Zorah is awed and disgusted at the same time, just like Liara in the lifepod. At the ExoGeni observation post, Ashley's heartrate spikes, her pupils dilate, as her whole being tenses in anticipation.

Shepard's voice is full of something complex Liara can't decipher.

"Now, it begins."

Four shrieking, spinning vortices of scintillating, nameless colours emerge from the impact craters around the Thorian, tentacles of the unearthly light whipping around, clutching at Prothean ruins, Feros soil, Thorian creepers and Thorian biomass alike. The Thorian again screams, its voice filled with anguish, torment, pain. The colour-whips burrow into the heaving, convulsing mass of the Thorian, their touch leeching away colour, sustenance, existence from the creature itself, as reality itself starts bleeding, turning into a drab, brittle grey husk, devoid of all colour, all life. The tentacles of light lash the Thorian again and again, the Precursor's screams turning into mindless, weak whimpering, and then Liara hears it - an insane, mocking, foul giggling, the voice of children enjoying tearing living beings apart for the fun of it. The vortices of colours spin faster, collapsing inwards, their whiplike appendages pulling back, leaving a grey, brittle desert behind them, that's quickly inundated with the magma spewing from the tortured crust of Feros.

The mocking, evil laughter presses in on the lifepod, Wrex snarling in defiance, Liara shaking her head, tears in her eyes. Shepard is again chanting voicelessly, something shining with pure golden fire from his closed fist. The colours collapse further inwards, their voices, the flashing, hypnotic patterns of colours becoming furious, the twisting, coiling tentacles of light reaching now for the lifepod, as reality buckles, a tortured moan of stressed existence thundering beneath the lava-lit sky of Feros. The vortices implode with a tremendous concussion, the blastwave flattening the Prothean ruins for miles, swatting the struggling lifepod from the skies.


	9. Interlude - Visionaries

**Interlude - Visionaries**

 **Feros**

Liara T'Soni felt nauseous. Their crash after the explosion - _abortion_ , her mind tried to insist - almost killed them, it was only the quick, reflexive reactions of the three conscious biotics to deploy and mesh their barriers together and cocooning themselves in a stasis field that made survival possible. Thanks to that, they only sported a sizable collection of bruises and sprains, instead of something more serious. However, the main reason for her nausea was the sight of her childhood mentor and friend.

The Shiala of her precious memories looked every image of the graceful, deadly asari commando, always seeming to dance rather than simply move, practically exuding an aura of danger and sensuality. Her voice was warm and low, caressing the young student's aural cavities, always soothing her troubled mind. She was vibrant, full of life, humor, and kindness. Now, she looked half-dissolved, bones visible where acid ate through - _digested_ \- her flesh, patches of her skin showing organic mass similar to the Thorian's, her eyes deep with sadness and pain, aware of what was done to her. Liara shuddered, turned towards Shepard, and tensed when she saw his expression.

This was not the usual calm, quietly amused face, or the grim, efficient soldier - she supposed that this was the face of Shepard that Wrex called the Butcher, the one she has read some very dark things about. The usually warm eyes stared at Shiala with an extremely clinical, cold gaze, the golden sparks within that gaze - she suspected they were somehow linked to the operative's unusual abilities - somehow seemingly boring into her very soul.

"Liara, she's lucid enough to give some answers. And we need those. If you can't stomach that, you might want to take a short walk." Liara closed her eyes for a short second, then shook her head, and sat down next to Shiala, fingers intertwining with those of the other asari. Wrex nodded approvingly, and Shepard shrugged.

"Fair enough. Now, Shiala, how did Saren know about the Thorian here?"

The asari's voice was feeble, low, filled with pain, her whole body trembling with the effort of speaking.

"Contact from some humans who dealt with Saren before. No idea who they were, but he knew and trusted them." Shepard's face turned into a mask of hatred and raw, seething fury for a moment, those golden sparks seemingly swirling in his vision.

"What was Saren after here? Why did he deal with the Thorian?"

"The message from the Beacon was garbled, unclear. Melding with Lady Benezia helped, but still they could not fully comprehend it. The Thorian was old enough to have consumed Protheans as well, and Lady Benezia decided that she'd risk melding with it through an intermediary, and try extracting a cipher, a Prothean thought-scheme..." Her voice trailed off into wet coughing, as Liara stared at her, horror in her eyes.

"And my mother forced you to take the full brunt of the Thorian's presence?" Shiala weakly shook her head.

"No, I volunteered. We all did." Three surprised gazes focused on the prone asari.

"That dedication is even beyond what asari commandoes or acolytes do, even after centuries of attachment." Wrex rumbled, frowning, his eyes blinking as he trawled his ancient memories. Shiala nodded weakly, another cough wracking her frame, mucus leaking from the corner of her mouth.

"True, but after spending time near Saren, near Sovereign...it becomes easier, clearer, their ideas and plans morph into inevitable facts and inviolable destinies. You want to follow them, help them - you simply have to. And if you do well, the voices stop, or at least quiet down." Her gaze was far away, voice distant, tired, defeated. Liara's face was creased with worry, apprehensiveness, while both Shepard and Wrex radiated sheer fury.

"Can that mindwashing be broken or prevented?" The human's voice was clipped, underlined with bottomless anger. Shiala chuckled bitterly, then convulsed in a coughing fit.

"Of course it can be broken, you just need to give yourself to a Thorian! You can't prevent it, the whispers are constant, draining your will, haunting your dreams, your waking moments, until you give in! And then you'll feel nothing but the importance of seeing through the tasks given to you, not even joy at obeying them..." Again, mucus leaked from Shiala's mouth, and Liara frowned. Were the spots of Thorian matter _spreading_? She made a slight gesture with her omnitool, just to confirm what her eyes saw. She noticed that Wrex had his oversized cannon pointed towards Shiala, the krogan's gaze sharp and wary.

"Shiala, we don't have much time. Is that Prothean thought-scheme, that cipher still in your mind?" The asari convulsed, choking, but managed to nod, even as her flesh started to undulate, the Thorian mass burrowing deeper. Liara looked at her teacher's pained face with tears in her eyes, shaking her head in denial. Shepard's hand closed on her shoulder, forcing her away as the operative knelt next to the older asari.

"Wrex, watch them." The human's hands grabbed Shiala's face, their gazes locked, and Liara could only stare in horrified fascination as Shiala's eyes became void-dark pools signalling the meld. Shepard hissed, the golden flecks in his eyes seemingly sparking across his vision as blood dripped from his eyes, ears, and mouth.

The ordeal lasted for an eternity, or simply a handful of seconds according to their chronos. Both Liara and Wrex monitored how the Thorian contagion seemed to spread over Shiala's body, the stench of unnatural fecundity familiar from the Precursor became faintly noticeable in the lifepod. With a gasp, Shiala convulsed again, her eyes swirling back to green, as Shepard fell back, choking and coughing up blood. Liara hesitated for a moment, torn between wanting to help both, then moved to Shepard's side with a sad, hesitant smile.

The operative was panting, eyes flickering madly, the golden sparks pulsed deep in those eyes, and Liara fell, unaware that her eyes swirled void-black.

 _Familiar humanoid shapes fighting against a shadowy self, exuding defiance, slowly being ground down, dragged away into the void. Pain, overwhelming senses, mechanical tendrils burrowing into flesh, seeking, altering, replacing - a vital something is leaking away, it cannot be defined exactly, only felt, the colours bleaching away, dulling, becoming simpler, a million voices whisper insane, ancient things, a void-dark, cold will pressing down on them. Beware those of the Void, do not turn to their science, their tools will betray you!_

 _The metal lives, cold machine intelligence cannot be trusted, machines will betray you always, the Void-Machine will CONSUME ALL!_

 _Dreams, visions of slender, humanoid shapes that greet and teach them, the alien voices melodious, protective, transmitting their warning, but the dreamers can sense their callous, selfish, calculating intent, the disdain felt towards mere pawns - the warnings and portents are disregarded, discarded. Dreams from the past, from the slender creatures cannot be trusted, dreams from the Void must not be trusted._

 _Vast, world-spanning presences contemplate the galaxy with glacial patience, pondering the message of the Different Ones, nervous systems burrowing through whole worlds are measuring their worth, their intent, before dismissing their clarity for calculated malicious intent, ridiculing the warning as false pretense tailored for gullible slaves._

 _The abyss yawns, a black gulf of time, stretching away, so far away, webbed with a crystalline lattice of intent and message - the theme is always the same, a warning of danger dreaming in the distant, cold outer void, mostly unheeded, always overwhelming. A vortex spreads, incomprehensibly wide, spanning worlds, spanning systems, clusters…_

 _Coldly beautiful, hauntingly melodious, the siren song of creation echoes from the depth of the gulf across the vortex, unheeded, as it all ends in fire, immense black shapes descending from above, from outside, reaching down, consuming, gorging themselves, altering and forcing the universe to their needs, closing off something beautiful and vital, silencing the melodies, imprisoning the colours…_

The connection is broken by a deafening shotgun blast as Wrex splatters the remains of the Shiala-thing over the floor of the lifepod. Shepard and Liara both flinch at the sudden, forced disruption of the meld, turning as one towards the ancient warlord, who grins at them.

"Don't mind me, kids, I know how intense first dates can be."

* * *

 **Nos Astra, Ilium**

"You know, this looks like the lineup for a very entertaining joke." The slender woman with Asian features quipped, as she glided to the table with her escort. The salarian remained impassive, the turian's mandibles twitched in a wry grin, and the asari preened. The two humans sat down, and the salarian gestured with his omnitool, checked something, then nodded.

"Good, scrambling works. Nice of you to join us." The woman grinned at him, half-bitter, half-amused.

"When you receive an invitation to chat with three Spectres, one usually does not say no. I hear that's not good for one's health." The asari smiled, a lioness before pouncing on her prey. The woman glanced at her, then focused again on the salarian. "Let us not mince words and waste time. What do you want, Spectre Bau?"

The salarian flashed a quick grin, set a datapad on the table, then spoke.

"Require your particular talents for a job. In return, willing to give you chance to escape official pursuit."

The two humans shared a glance, then the man spoke.

"What if we decline?"

"You decline now, you walk out here. Will be caught in a month, two if going by pessimistic estimates. You decline after reading that datapad, I end you here and now." Bau's voice was dry, without a hint of emotion, his hands comfortably on the table, yet something in his posture shifted ever-so-slightly, and even his two colleagues shot him glances, before the asari quietly chuckled.

"Not much choice, then." The man's voice was bitter, his hand below the table gripping the woman's fingers.

"Afraid not. Too little time, too important issue. Need people with skills who are not involved with the Broker." The two humans stared at him in surprise. "Interested, Miss Goto, Mr. Okuda?"

"Let us see the datapad, then we can tell you more." Bau thought for a second, then nodded, and slid the datapad over. The two humans paged quickly skimmed through the files on the datapad: images of Precursor artifacts, the Temple of Athame on Thessia, Matriarch Benezia, reports about Irem, Leng, and Shanxi, a human building complex in a snowy mountain range, an N7 patch with a green triangle, a gold-black symbol of interlocking hexagons, an immense squidlike black ship. Goto laughed.

"You honestly want us to poke so many hornet's nests, Bau? The N7 Delta? University of Kathmandu? Why not ask your blue friend there for access to the Athame Temple?"

The asari snorted, bitter smile on her lips as she answered.

"Because even a Spectre with some centuries of community service under her belt is not a Matriarch." Her lips turned down, as if she swallowed something bitter. "And you two are better at this than I am."

Goto smiled at the obviously reluctant praise, before she turned to her partner, raising an eyebrow. Okuda focused on Bau, as he spoke.

"What exactly do you want us to do?"

"Information. Patterns. I do not have hard evidence, but what I can deduce makes me worried. Trouble is brewing, and is connected to these things. I need you to dig, and report back anything you may find."

"That black ship's the new geth dreadnought that Saren grabbed for his attack on Eden Prime, right?" Goto asked, eyes half-closed in thought.

"Geth irrelevant long-term. Can cause damage to Alliance, Council alike - cause too much damage, and we'll ally and stomp them flat. Source of black ship more worrying, projected and estimated tech advantage overwhelming. More worrying, absence of any precedence for tech that advanced." Bau saw Okuda tensing to say something, and raised his hand preemptively. "Do not believe it is geth tech. Too advanced to achieve in those few centuries. Relay logs do not have similar drive core emissions on record. Checked already, also for signs of tampering. None found."

"We also checked turian and Spectre archives, as well as some asari databanks." The turian's flanging voice was laced with suppressed fury and bitterness. "There are some seals not even Spectre credentials could open, not without causing too much uproar." The asari Spectre grimaced bitterly, laid a hand at the turian's shoulder, and the turian eased back.

"Why not involve the Broker?" Okuda asked, curiousity evident in his voice.

"You have standards and can be relied on to put overall survival above personal gains. Broker is exactly the opposite."

"How much support can you give us?" Goto's voice was resigned.

"Officially, none. Unofficially, will give you access to private accounts and contact methods if you need to reach us for assistance."

The two humans shared a glance, then nodded as one. Okuda spoke.

"Very well, Spectres, you got your agents."

The two humans finished their drinks, and took their leave.

"Are you sure this was wise, Jondum?" Tela Vasir's voice was pensive.

"Wise, maybe not. Necessary, almost surely." The salarian seemed to sag and age years before he went on. "Maybe jumping at shadows. Maybe too old. Dare not take the risk of ignoring it, however."

Jondum Bau, unofficial Spectre leader was stunned as one of his companions squeezed his shoulder in support as the other kissed him - for luck, if he heard the murmuring correctly.

"Anyway, I think we should also consider how to start gearing up the Council forces for a possible conflict...without alerting the governments." Nihlus sounded distinctly, bitterly amused. Tela pouted.

"More of the skulking conspiracy stuff, boys? Can't we have something nice and straightforward for a change? When you get to be my age, you start disliking the shadows, especially when forced to practically live in them. Besides, what do you think we could accomplish on that scale?"

The turian frowned thoughtfully, before he spoke, voice slow, halfway lost in thought.

"Point a few research institutes into other directions, maybe ask for cooperation with the humans on their laser tech. Build a number of stealthships like the Normandy. Improve encryption and communication tech, put some more effort into deploying and fine-tuning power armors. Eradicate troublesome warlords, cut a deal with Aria for eezo. And while it pains me to say, we seriously need to consider doing something about the krogan and the genophage."

The three Spectres contemplated the future, their plans, their drinks. Nihlus glanced at his companions, then at their drinks. The turian's mandibles widened into an evil grin as he turned to his friends, omnitool lighting up as he placed a drink order.

"I think we need to de-stress a bit. Tela, your shirt..."

"Not again, you bird-brained lecher. I'm too old and stiff for the stripper routine!"

The good-natured bickering only intensified, after the alcohol arrived, and the three Spectres put galactic-level conspiracies behind them for the night.

* * *

 **Anadius system, Horsehead Nebula**

Jack Harper permitted himself a smile as he leaned back in his chair, watching the ever-shifting patterns of the surface of Anadius. The view of the star and the void was always calming to him, he felt at home, more ready to make plans, to orchestrate the fulfilment of his vision. Well, not exactly just his vision; the silent, bearded man beside him was likely even more involved - especially since he and another took the younger Jack Harper and his friends under their wings after the hell of Shanxi, and opened his eyes to some truths better left unknown.

He contemplated the multitude of holographic screens before them, eyes flitting over streams of data, looking for patterns, irregularities. He sighed, and lit his cigar, the smoke mingling with the pipesmoke of his companion. He tapped the controller, enlarged a screen, then waited a few seconds for the call to connect.

"Mr. Lawson, good evening. You indicated that we need to talk about your project?"

"We do, actually. I'm sure you have reviewed or will review the files I sent you, so I'll keep it brief. With the current tech we have, the best we can do is field improved bionic implants, replacement organs, some additions and improvements in the nervous system as well as the musculature and skeletal structure."

"I see. What is the rejection rate?"

Lawson looked disgusted, his voice bitter as he answered.

"Much higher than acceptable. The final results are impressive, but currently, I can guarantee only a single digit success percentage." He perked up, interested, focused, eager. "Though if you could give me more test subjects..."

"How much more, Mr. Lawson? Rough estimate of scale will do." The other man considered for a moment, frowned, nodded to himself before speaking.

"In the four-digit range, at the bare minimum. Five-digit range would be better."

Harper looked at his companion, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. The silent man half-closed his eyes, calculated for a moment, then seemed to sag, and shook his head.

"Unfortunately, that is currently not feasible, Mr. Lawson." Harper lifted a hand, forestalling Lawson's outburst. "I'm not questioning your requirements, results, or procedures, Henry, but I'm sure that once you consider the current galactic climate, you'll see why acquiring more test subjects is not feasible."

Lawson frowned, then reluctantly nodded.

"Very well, I see your point, Jack. Still, can you provide me with some subjects? Especially krogans would be welcome. You know how much of the work is based on them, and while robust, they do deteriorate as well, and we don't have nearly enough of them."

Again a glance between Harper and the silent man, a minuscule nod this time.

"We will get you some more krogan, Henry, as soon as possible. If there's nothing else?"

Lawson shook his head, and the connection was terminated. Harper turned towards his guest, and raised an eyebrow.

"So, what do you think?"

"The reports do not seem to be tampered with, and there certainly is progress. Unfortunately, it is much slower than what I hoped for."

"Come now, Professor - your main profile is close enough to genetic engineering, you of all people should know that what you want is not something that can be produced within a few years. And I still wonder why you insist on that implantable gene-template, instead of in utero modifications." A puff of smoke from the cigar. "And frankly, currently I see no point in throwing endless amounts of money into this fancy of yours."

The silent man motioned for him to continue, a professor watching a good student solve a serious problem.

"If what you told me is correct, we will never get the gene-work done in time to deploy en masse, to make a difference in the short-term conflict. I propose moving this endeavour to the back burner, as it were, and reallocate most of the funding to other, more immediately useful projects."

The silent man considered this for a few moments, face like a judge pondering the sentence, then nodded. Another screen was enlarged, displaying a middle-aged man with receding hair, stubble, wearing the uniform of an Alliance scientist. Harper's eyes flicked across the brief summary projected on the screen.

"Task Force Aurora? Hackett's doing some private, off-the-books digging, and into archeotech weaponry and xenoarcheology? Well, well, well..." His chuckle stopped when his companion stared at him, the seemingly universal gaze of a military commander reprimanding a civilian for meddling with things for which he had no proper authorization. Harper raised a hand, forestalling a protest.

"I'm not saying it to disparage him, far from it. I simply never thought that it would be Hackett who actually takes steps into this direction. Then again," another puff from the cigar, a sip of whisky "Hackett does have relevant experience, and he's far enough from Sol to get away with a bit of common sense and forethought. So I see no problems in providing funds and assistance to Doctor Bryson and Task Force Aurora. I'll ask Miranda to set up a convincing foundation whose profile would be inline with Bryson's public activity."

The silent man nodded, his face showing the subtle pride of a teacher at his student's creativity.

"Still, Professor - what if Bryson actually finds something? What if he gets results? Do you have any assets that can provide on-site, direct assitance?"

The silent man thought for a few seconds before he smiled - a sad, bitter smile of someone about to betray the trust of an old friend and comrade. Then he closed his eyes and nodded. Harper dismissed the screen, and the silent visitor turned to leave. Harper again touched the controller, and new screens sprang to life.

"One more thing, Professor. In light of Lawson's report and Hackett's efforts, can you reconsider the idea proposed by me and Chandana?"

The silent man turned, stared at the screens. The Great Rift of Klendagon, the Mars Archive, the Noctis Facility, Eingana. The pictures dissolved in static, the smell of ozone filled the air, the temperature dropped sharply. Jack saw his breath plume, and golden light illuminated the void, the power of distant thunderstorms rumbling in his companion's voice.

"Hear my words and mark me well, Jack Harper. I am not blind to the needs of humanity or what lies within the hearts of men. You tread on a dangerous path, where your quest for power will result in you succumbing to the dark temptations. The workings of the Precursors must be handled carefully, as the siren song of their science is as dangerous as the music of the spheres, as both will exact a terrible price from those who think themselves their master. You know some and suspect more of what I and my people have fought, so mark my words well: dwelling on these matters too deeply will destroy you and everything you bled to build up."

Impossibly, lightning seemed to flicker in the void-facing observation room, finding home in Professor Munir Yildirim's golden eyes.

+++ WOE BETIDE YOU AND YOURS IF YOU IGNORE MY WARNING. YOU WILL BECOME MY ENEMY AND I WILL PASS MY JUDGMENT UPON YOU FOR BETRAYING OUR CAUSE. +++


	10. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Feedback and reviews are welcome, and they keep me motivated :) That said, the story will have a short hiatus (about 2-3 weeks) due to vacation and work.

 **SSV Normandy, Feros orbit**

The briefing room of the Normandy was not too large, and with the amount of people inside, Garrus felt somewhat crowded. He leaned back while he took in the Feros ground team: Wrex, impassive as ever; Liara, paler and somewhat shaken-looking; Ashley, her eyes glowing with excitement; Shepard, composed and determined. He glanced aside at Alenko and Tali'Zorah, saw the human frowning, lost in thought, while the young quarian was visibly forcing herself to appear calm. Garrus then focused on the screen in front of the standing Spectre: the surface of Feros.

He, like most turians in active service (especially potential Spectre, Blackwatch, and Cabalist candidates), knew about the scale of destruction the Alliance was capable of. He figured that after Shanxi and Torfan, the galaxy was well aware of the human's resolve and capabilities. Now, it seemed, Shepard and Anderson were using one of their own colonies to remind them on that lesson again.

On the screen, the surface of Feros was glowing red, as magma spilled from the deep fissures rent into its crust, the ground writhing and convulsing as the bombardment continued. Clouds of noxious gasses and ejecta darkened the planet's atmosphere, the hellish glow of the spilling magma accentuated by the flashes of coherent light as the human flottilla fired its dorsal laser cannons at the vicinity of the former colony and the Prothean ruins, where their sensor sweeps found traces of Thorian biomass or geth signals - surely an overkill, after the "conventional" bombardment, and especially after that C-type shelling. Garrus did not ask and did not really want to know what that abbreviation stood for; the gut-wrenching, sheer _wrongness_ of those things was enough to convince him about some things better left in the dark. On one hand, he felt privileged to see such a rare sight, on the other, he was watching a world being essentially tortured to death - and he blinked when he realized he meant that literally.

The screen changed, showing the Council, and Garrus saw that he wasn't the only one to tense, even if all knew that the projectors on their side were focused so only Shepard would be displayed for the Councillors.

"As you can see, the situation is under control, the opposing forces have been eliminated." Shepard's voice was calm, even.

"I see your apparent disregard and hatred for Prothean architecture is as strong as ever, Spectre. Was it really necessary to turn an artifact world into a spirits-damned netherworld?"

"I invite you to educate me on the alternatives Councilor, based on the data we gathered." Garrus saw he wasn't the only one who struggled to suppress a smile, it seemed that Councilor Sparatus was rather universally disliked. "I'm sure after service in the distinguished turian Army, your experience in dealing with xenoarcheological threats is vastly superior to that of humanity."

"You would do well to mind your tone, Spectre, before the Council is forced to ask the Alliance for clarification why such an abomination was not uncovered, reported, and disposed of earlier!"

"As a Spectre, I consider it my duty to point out that the Council had ample time to examine Feros and locate the Thorian, prior to ceding the world to the Alliance for colonization. Unless, Councilor" Shepard's eyes narrowed, his posture shifting in eager bloodlust "you want to imply that the Citadel Council knew about a dangerous xenoarcheological threat, and deliberately set up the Alliance as a scapegoat when it broke free."

Wrex and Ashley cackled, Liara frowned, and Garrus heard Tali mutter something about bulkhead-breaking idiots, as she stopped herself from reaching for Shepard's arm. Sparatus sputtered in indignation.

"Baseless speculation and slander is not your task, Spectre." Valern cut in. "We are not going to achieve anything by arguing about past deeds. Spectre Shepard, I found one thing curiously missing from the Feros reports. The exact nature and capabilities of your so-called C-type bombardment shells."

"I have it on good authority, Councilor, that the Alliance is prepared and willing to hand over the relevant data." Garrus narrowed his eyes, then his mandibles flared in a grin, as Wrex, Tali, and Ashley chuckled almost simultaneously. "Admiral Hackett assured me that the moment the capabilities of Blackwatch, Serrice Guard, and STG WMDs become available, the Alliance will release the requested information."

With the ongoing chuckling on their side, Garrus was unsure if the others caught the minuscule nod and smile Tevos directed towards Shepard. The Spectre turned towards the asari.

"Can I assume the requisite political dancing is done with, Madam Councilor? Frankly, I feel we could be spending our time more productively - and my crew needs a bit of time to relax after this. Not to mention that we need to get in touch with our dedicated STG team."

"Very well, Spectre. We will arrange for a meeting with your STG backup once you get back to the Citadel. I would advise you to consider Noveria as your next target, or at least a close-future one; our operatives found some...disturbing information about the work Binary Helix does there."

"As you wish, Madam Councilor. If there's nothing else?" The asari shook her head, and Shepard ended the connection, before sighing and turning towards the crew.

"So, any questions about the Feros operation?" The operative was looking at Garrus with a raised eyebrow. The turian shrugged.

"You know I'm considered sort of an unofficial observer. I gave my report to you before passing it to Sparatus." The Spectre nodded. "That said, I am curious about those bombs of yours. They certainly seem very ... effective, not to mention unusual."

Garrus could see Ashley tense and glare at him, then Alenko touched the woman's arm, and shook his head, with a nod towards Shepard.

"Trust me on this, Garrus - the more you know about those abominations, the less you sleep well at night. And that's something even the Butcher would agree with." Shepard's small smile was bitter. Garrus considered for a few moments, then nodded, relaxing back in his chair.

"Why...why do your people even have them? Those things...those voices...was I hearing things, or did they really..." Tali's voice was low, hesitant, afraid. "I mean we were up here in orbit, and I thought I could still hear them..."

Wrex shot a dark glare at Shepard, then turned towards the young quarian, his voice a deep rumble.

"Such things are necessary, Tali. Best not dwell on them too long, or too deep. And besides, shouldn't you be gushing about the drive core?" His eyes widened for a moment when Tali shuddered at the mention of the core, then Wrex narrowed his eyes, and again glared at Shepard. "I see. We will be having words, Butcher. And if I don't like what you say, I'll smear you all over the staging deck."

The Spectre grinned mirthlessly, as he met the krogan's glare, and nodded. Garrus noticed that Ashley became more tense, more excited as the tension went up between Wrex and Shepard, and her hands were unconsciously looking for an absent sidearm.

"Anything else?" Shepard looked around, and Ashley spoke up.

"Yes, Commander, may I speak with you and Doctor T'Soni in private?" Garrus sighed, when he noticed Wrex' wry grin, before they filed out, the krogan's sinister laughter echoing in the room.

* * *

Liara waited nervously with the two humans as the others filed out of the briefing room. She did have some ideas why Lieutenant Williams wanted to talk with them - well, more likely _to_ Shepard _about_ her, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions too quickly. And even if she was correct about the Lieutenant's agenda, she was unsure whether it was true. She frowned, sitting primly in her chair, as Shepard leant back against the holoscreen's control unit.

"So Ash, what's on your mind?" Shepard's voice was friendly, calm, body language nonconfrontational. Ashley seemed lost in thought for a few more seconds, the silence becoming awkward before she coughed, and looked up into the operative's eye.

"Sir, I'm unsure whether you are objective enough in your handling of Doctor T'Soni." She took a deep breath, and went on. "I believe you allowed your personal feelings to dictate your actions during the Feros operation, and endangered the fulfilment of the stated objectives." Liara was blushing at the woman's implication, especially since she thought it might contain some measure of truth. Ashley would have continued, but Shepard raised a hand, cutting her off.

"For clarification, Lieutenant. You have problems with me taking Doctor T'Soni and Wrex with me on Feros, instead of Alliance marines, or Garrus, or Tali?"

"Not entirely, sir. I do not like you taking Wrex along, but based on his records, it was a solid tactical decision. I could say the same for choosing Vakarian, though personally I'd like that even less." Ashley was looking straight into the commander's eyes, and Liara shivered a bit as she thought what the woman's argument would be...and at the undercurrent of emotion in her voice. "But taking either Tali or Doctor T'Soni? Commander, both are basically kids,civilians with next to no combat experience, and bringing no battlefield advantage to the table. I can admit to the benefits their abilities can provide shipside, but on the ground, both are liabilities."

Shepard nodded towards Ashley, and Liara fancied she could detect a very small, somewhat bitter smile on his face.

"So at least it's not simple speciesism." Ashley opened her mouth, face flushed, fists clenched, but Shepard held up a hand, and went on. "I know your past, or rather, your family's past, Lieutenant. I am not holding your prejudices against you as long as it does not impair teamwork or cause more trouble than the occasional snippy remark. Also, I can appreciate the fact that you tell me your suspicions to my face, instead of having to hear it from the grapevine or from our superiors. So, before we take this to a more formal level, let us talk a bit."

Ashley nodded, a jerky motion of her head, face still angry, posture tense. Liara watched, unsure if she should speak up, but decided she would keep quiet for now, as it was a confrontation between the commander and his subordinate. Still, a part of her brain was considering why Ashley wanted her to sit in, especially since she had not asked for Tali to stay. Some of the conclusions were blush-worthy, so she did just that.

"That said, Lieutenant, while I have not really seen Tali in action much, and I consider her abilities much more useful shipside, I think you are doing the good doctor here a disservice." Liara and Ashley both snapped their heads up at that, with rather different expressions. Shepard flashed a quick smile, and continued. "While I admit that Doctor T'Soni is not a soldier, spending fifty years on xenoarcheological digs unchanged and basically unhurt is not something I'd call lack of experience, especially if you read through some of those expedition notes."

Liara's eyes widened at the implications - surely, the Spectre did not dig that deep into her past exploits? But then again, she considered it was what Spectres did, and the human certainly seemed to know his job well. Shepard went on.

"As for her usefulness on the ground, you presumably saw the recovered Therum reports from Kai Leng's team?" Ashley nodded, clearly unwilling. "Good, so we can dispense with that part, and you should be getting the idea why I brought her along on Feros. Also, she's a very good xenoarcheologist, and we were dealing with a xenoarcheological threat, Lieutenant Williams, an Opera Night-level one at that! I should not have to explain the implications of that to you, of all people!"

Ashley flushed, opened her mouth, but Shepard overrode her.

"I am not finished, Lieutenant! Unless you or Alenko suddenly gained an in-depth knowledge in xenoarcheology, she was literally the only choice who could conceivably offer advice in case we ran into something Wrex or me were not familiar with. And did you consider for a moment that we may need to extract information quickly from an unwilling, uncooperative, or unconscious source, without having time or the necessary equipment at hand?"

Ashley's eyes widened at that, and Liara felt cold, her eyes narrowed in anger. Surely, the Spectre could not have insinuated…

"With all that, Lieutenant, I suggest you leave, and think a bit on the situation a bit. Informally, I can understand and accept where you are coming from and why you said what you did, and I can respect you for that. If you want to go formal, then I advise you to come up with more arguments, and a more solid reasoning. Dismissed, Lieutenant."

Ashley stood, still flushed, before she saluted and marched off stiffly, her face and posture still indicating simmering anger, and perhaps something else. Liara frowned, _surely the Lieutenant couldn't think like that_ …

"Sorry you had to sit through that, Doctor, I have no idea why she wanted to air those issues with you present."

"I think I understand her reasoning, Commander, and I'm flattered by what you said, however, there is a small detail I'd like to discuss with you." Liara's voice changed to the cold, formal, aristocratic tone she heard Benezia use so often, and sparks of biotic energy licked around her arms and shoulders. "Did you really consider having me forcibly meld with whoever, whatever was down there, just to gain information?"

The operative nodded, with a small, bitter smile.

"Why, Commander? You do realize I'd never willingly violate someone like that! It's simply not done, a taboo among asari - wait, would you really have _forced_ me to do that? Commit mind rape by proxy?" Liara's voice was colder than the void, her biotic corona sparking eagerly, her entire being poised to smash the Spectre against the bulkhead, and the Goddess damn the consequences! The Spectre loomed over her, stepping closer, unafraid, and chuckled, the sound low, bitter - and that was mainly the reason she held back.

"Yes, Doctor, that was one option." The human's voice was tired but cold. "I know you are young, but get any notion of shining knights in armor out of your head. I do the dark, horrible deeds so the young and idealistic can have a better world, blessedly unaware of the things that lurk in the void. Go on, call me evil, call me a monster, I don't really care. Me and people like me are, unfortunately, _necessary_. Just ask Wrex, I'm sure he can tell you stories."

Liara hadn't noticed how close they were standing as she listened to Shepard's voice, a part of her wanting to run, another to hit him, while yet another wanted to … she blushed, as she gazed into the strange, gold-flecked eyes from up close. Shepard blinked, suddenly realizing their close proximity. He cleared his throat, and stepped back.

"Sorry about that, Doctor. Unfortunately, I cannot promise that the future will not require somewhat … less than ethical actions. I will do my best to keep you uninvolved with that, but I can't guarantee we can always find a convenient alternative. So, if you want to leave due to that, I'll arrange for your return to Thessia."

Liara allowed her biotics to dissipate, and frowned in contemplation, before she shook her head, and looked back at the Spectre again, with a small, sad smile.

"No, I think I'll stay with you, Commander. It's not like I have much choice, do I?" The human looked down, and gave a minuscule headshake. "At least you were upfront about it. Still, Commander, in the future I would deeply appreciate it if you could at least consider other options that forcible melding. If you excuse me, I have some data in need of analysis." She raised an eyebrow at the human, who nodded, then Liara turned and walked out from the briefing room with perhaps a bit more swaying than necessary.

Some impulse made her turn back at the door, and she saw the Spectre looking at her strangely, before the doors hissed close.


	11. Chapter 7

**SSV Normandy, staging deck**

Tali'Zorah was angry at herself, at her weakness - a quarian, afraid of a piece of machinery? The mere thought was laughable. Yet here she was, hesitant to enter the engineering room where she would be alone, with that malicious thing watching her. Keelah, it's like one of Auntie Raan's ghost stories…

As she was dithering in front of the door to engineering, she heard the elevator hiss open, and two sets of steps rung on the deck, heading towards Wrex. She could not make out the words as they were too low, but she heard the low growling voice of Wrex, the flanging, exasperated voice of Garrus, and the low rumble of Shepard. A set of footsteps distanced itself towards the Mako, and as she turned around, she could see Garrus leaning to the tank, shaking his head. A second later, she felt the temperature drop, as hoarfrost crept across the staging deck, and the blue-white concussive detonation of a biotic charge shook the ship.

She was paralyzed for a second, before the deep laughter of Wrex filled the deck, the sound followed by the shriek of tearing metal. Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, daughter of the Migrant Fleet and heir to one of its admirals, stalked towards the staging deck, intent on chastising the imbeciles putting the whole ship and crew into danger with their immature, childish show of bravado. How dare they behave like that, the bosh'tets should know better!

Her measured stalking hastened by the sounds of biotically empowered blows and thuds, she reached the staging deck in time to see Shepard skidding over the frost-limned deck, ducking under a blow from Wrex, and staggering the old warlord with a kick to the knee, the human's face a mask of savage joy and bloodlust. The krogan grunted, staggered, then sent the operative flying with a biotic throw, before closing again with a snarl, his grin a match to Shepard's. To the side, Garrus was watching with apparent frustration, before the turian snapped to attention, and grinned at Tali. His grin wilted as she sent him a withering glare through her mask - he's a turian, they are supposed to be disciplined -, before marching closer, her fingers drumming on her omnitool. A raised three-fingered hand limned in orange - then the staging deck was filled with the smell of ozone and blue-white light as Tali simply electrocuted the two brawlers, who fell to the deck twitching.

"What in the void are you bosh'tets thinking? Are you trying to rip the ship apart with your insane antics? Why not drop down to Feros or an asteroid if you so desperately want to have a ridiculous contest like this?" She towered over the two prone, still-twitching males, finger pointing accusingly on them, her voice almost a shriek from the barely controlled fury, indignation, and fear. "I can't believe you two are so recklessly insane! Have you given any thought to what may happen when you rip through these flimsy plates and the outer hull? Are you planning to do Saren's job in getting us all killed? Where's the experienced, legendary krogan warlord? Where's the responsible special operative? Who swapped them with two testosterone-addled teenagers?"

Garrus almost fell over standing as he could not hold back his laughter - the sight of the diminutive quarian lecturing the two brawlers was simply too much, and he only regretted switching on his visor's recording function a few seconds too late. Still, he supposed the part he captured would be excellent blackmail material… then he stiffened as Tali rounded on him, her omnitool emitting small, ominous arcs of electricity.

"Don't you dare laugh, you bosh'tet lizard, you are as much to blame as they are! Why in the void did you not stop them?" Garrus sputtered, tried to interject, to defend himself, point out how ridiculuous the thought of him stopping the ship's captain was, but Tali simply did not care. "You are a turian, you should have set a good example for discipline and regulations! If you could not stop them, why not alert Chief Engineer Adams, XO Pressly, or Doctor Chakwas? I'm sure either of them could have put these overgrown kids in their place, and enlightened them about shipboard safety with regards to biotic fights!"

Her tirade sputtered as Shepard and Wrex both rose, towering over her, while measuring her with almost-identical gazes. She felt herself shrinking a bit, before she squared her shoulders, and again glared at them, glad that they could not see her flush under her helmet. Wrex laughed, without a trace of anger, while grinning at her.

"See, Shepard, this is the reason for our little counseling session. I may have to take her to Tuchanka, if she's willing." Tali looked bewildered, especially when Shepard grinned and nodded.

"Why would you take me there? What do you mean, you overgrown turtle? Quit being so mysterious!"

The answer came from Shepard.

"The krogan rite of adulthood and adoption into a clan is traditionally conducted on Tuchanka."

Tali nodded absently, raised her finger to make a point, before the words registered. Being the daughter of an admiral, nephew of another, she was able to pull together a sufficiently eloquent reaction.

"WHAT?"

Her shout set all three males off, and her visor helpfully provided targeting data before she dismissed the suit VI's suggestions with a blink. She took a deep breath, her omnitool arcing with dangerous sparks again, and she took a vicious satisfaction that it stopped all three bosh'tets from laughing. They were still grinning, but she'd take what she could get.

"Now, seriously. What in the void are you talking about, Wrex?"

The huge krogan's grin was not reassuring her. At all.

"You've got a quad on you, little Tali. I would feel remiss if I didn't offer my favorite new niece a chance of joining Clan Urdnot, to make it official."

Tali's mouthpiece glowed, but no words came out. Garrus, mandibles still flexed in that infuriating grin of his, spoke up.

"You might want to think seriously about this, Tali. Krogan warlords do not often make these to just anyone." He thought for a second, then his grin dropped. "Though I'm not sure about that rite of theirs, I heard some stories..."

Tali's mind whirled with the possibilities, duty to his people skirmishing with her personal feelings, and since there were traitors among the latter, the struggle was brief, the outcome not in doubt.

"You're like the crazy, headbutting uncle I never had, Wrex."

She was surprised when the crazy old turtle almost crushed her into a hug, her protests muffled by the almost rib-cracking strength, her mortification at the laughing krogan's action somewhat mitigated by the poleaxed look on the faces of both Garrus and Shepard. She grinned under her helmet as she was back on her feet, the possibilites of a closer interworking between the Migrant Fleet and a krogan clan whirling in her mind. Also, she felt good at the praise, as Wrex did not seem to have ulterior motives, and apart from his species-induced insanity, he was quite fun to be around.

"Watch out Shepard, my new niece just might take a fancy to you, and then your pretty little doctor will have some serious competition."

As Garrus and Shepard once again descended into undignified giggling, Tali was busy trying to kill Wrex with a glare while struggling for words.

* * *

 **SSV Erebus, Attican Beta cluster, en route to Feros**

Admiral Steven Hackett was feeling conflicted. A part of him was pleased that once again, the capabilities and resolve of humanity have been sufficiently presented to the alien races; another part of him railed at the cost and methods of said reminder - he never liked the C-type shells, especially after he attained flag rank, and became privy to what exactly those things were. He was also quietly furious with ONI dropping the ball on the whole issue; an alien lifeform requiring such extreme measures to finish should have been better supervised, and reigned in much earlier. Of course, the possible benefits of a tech rush almost always trump the more sensible course of immediately killing such abominations. One would think that events like Irem and Leng were enough of a reminder, but no, we are too prideful for that…

Hackett snorted, and continued studying the reports from Shepard and Anderson, jotting down notes on his datapad. He started to approve and expand upon the follow-up investigation and purge suggested by his subordinates, taking steps against ExoGeni (after all, they did lose control of their experiment), drawing up plans for a more offensive approach towards the geth - if the reports from Fyodor's flotilla were accurate, the damn machines were up to something in the Armstrong Cluster.

His contemplation was interrupted by a call from the main bridge.

"Hackett here."

"Admiral, an Alliance vessel just dropped from lightspeed, and it is requesting docking permission. According to the data burst sent, the passenger of the ship wants to see you ASAP, and based on the clearance used, it might just be genuine."

Hackett's eyes scanned the encrypted code, mentally comparing it to the ones committed to memory - and only decades of service kept his face impassive.

"Order Captain Rafael to maneuver for fastest possible interception course, then have the other vessel dock in the bay nearest to my office. Ensure that the shortest route between the docking bay and my office is cleared. I want shipboard security in readiness. Also, tell the Captain I want a full sensor sweep of the sector, repeated at short, randomized intervals."

"Aye, Sir."

While his ship was maneuvering, Hackett considered who exactly his guest would be, and what the agenda might be. Based on the codes and means of contacting him, it had to be an extremely urgent and sensitive issue - Director Bergman was not known for jumping at shadows. He could guess a bit further about the nature of the issue, since the University of Kathmandu was usually not involved in everyday tasks. Still, the clearance level with its attached signifier made him uneasy, especially since he was on his way to support another; it felt as if Fate itself was mocking him.

His guest arrived an hour after her message - a petite, dark-haired woman, whose age he could not determine, but wagered that she was older than her looks indicated. She wore no formal uniform with rank and specialty signifiers, just a simple, utilitarian catsuit, that he suspected would nicely double as body armor. She stepped to his desk and saluted.

"Admiral Hackett, a pleasure to meet you."

"Forgive me for saying that the feeling is not mutual, Specialist. We were in somewhat of a hurry towards Feros, as I'm sure you know. And I suspect your arrival will delay us longer than a few hours."

"Unfortunately, you are correct Admiral. I apologize for intervening in your operations, but both Director Bergman and Professor Yildirim impressed on me that the issue at hand is potentially as serious as the Feros situation."

Hackett felt his blood go cold, as he lifted an eyebrow, motioning for the woman to sit and continue.

"That is a very dangerous claim, especially with those two names attached. Elaborate, Specialist."

"May I, Admiral?" At Hackett's nod, the woman gestured with her omnitool, and the holoscreen of the office came alive, the display split to show the black ship from Eden Prime, a certain hexagonal logo, and the surface of a planet every spacer of the Terminus knew. Hackett's eyes narrowed as his mind tried to correlate the three unrelated images, and not liking the immediate possibilities that arose.

"I know you are cleared and in the know about Cerberus, Admiral. After the Eden Prime attack, a think tank of Project Cerberus scientists was charged with looking for information and theories about weaponry capable of contending with that black dreadnought. Frankly, we did not expect any result anytime soon," Hackett snorted at that, mouth curling in a bitter smile, "but Doctors Chandana and Garneau came up with a theory involving the Great Rift."

The Admiral thought for a few seconds before speaking.

"Do they want to find the weapon that created the Great Rift, or do they want to investigate if there are tracks of the intended target?"

The specialist looked pleasantly surprised.

"A bit of both, Admiral. They do have some theories about likely trajectories, accounting for the elapsed time. We also ran their search models through our navcomputers, and the possible locations for an intended target do seem plausible. There's unfortunately a rather substantial amount of space to search for, even so."

"I thought so. Still, even with that, I fail to see why you needed me, especially now. That type of task would much better suit to any Scout Flotilla, and I'm sure that First or Second Fleet would have ships to spare. I do have my hands full of geth and the Saren business, you may recall."

The woman cleared her throat, and looked in Hackett's eyes.

"Unfortunately, due to … certain factors, the Director and the Professor thought it better if the First and Second Fleet was not involved in this operation, at least for the time being."

Hackett's eyes narrowed dangerously at his visitor.

"That's quite a serious insinuation, Specialist. Care to share the details, or at least the reason?"

"I'm sorry, Admiral, but I cannot. At this point, we have only suspicions, not evidence or facts. With the current situation, neither the Director, nor the Professor wanted to cause more internal strife than absolutely necessary. I apologize for the burden this places on Fifth Fleet and you, but this is what we are dealt by Fate."

Hackett snorted, before he stood and started pacing.

"Tell me, what do you want exactly? I can't spare too many ships, especially not for any extended time. Am I correct in assuming that you want the Erebus on-site at first, just in case someone unfriendly is waiting there?" The woman nodded, and Hackett went on. "I do not like that, but I suppose it's sensible. I can give you a few days, then I need to be elsewhere, conducting anti-geth operations. Also, it would be too suspicious for me to vanish that long, wouldn't it?"

"Correct, Admiral. We can come up with a cover story for a, say, three-day absence, but even under other circumstances, I would not presume to take up more than yor time."

"Fair enough, then. And we'll use those three days to see who can be detached to provide you with some scanning and protection capabilities."

"Thank you, Admiral Hackett. I only wish the circumstances were less severe."

"As do I. Will you be returning to your ship, or do you intend to remain here?"

"Perhaps staying here would be better, at least until we get to Klendagon."

"Then, I hope you'll accept an invitation to dinner with me and my officers, Specialist Olivia Zuleika."

* * *

 **Thessia, Temple of Athame**

The elegant, curved lines of the city buildings had not put Nihlus at ease, and he saw the minuscule signs of Tela herself preparing for confrontation - small wonder, considering their current agenda. He silently cursed Bau for delegating this hassle to them, and laid a hand on Tela's arm, holding her back for a second. The asari glanced at him, face an unreadable mask.

"Thanks for coming along, Tela."

"I could not very well leave you to the mercy of those old hags, could I?" Even Nihlus had difficulty spotting the humor and smile in his partner's eyes. "Now, remember to keep your tongue from lolling down your plates, and mind your manners."

"Don't worry, Jondum has given me detailed instructions on what to do." The asari's gaze searched his features for a long second, then she snorted. and shrugged.

"Your funeral."

The two Spectres ascended the steps to the Temple of Athame, the gates irising open before them. Nihlus took in the various religious artifacts and statues scattered within, finally focusing on the huge statue of the ancient asari goddess dominating the centre of the temple. Their footsteps echoed in the reverent silence, as they marched towards the small group waiting for them at the foot of the goddess. Nihlus knew enough to recognize two of them as ranked priestesses of Athame, but the other five set alarm bells ringing in his head, his stance and gait turning wary, predatory. What in the name of the spirits are Huntresses doing here, especially disguised as priestesses?

A small, fleeting gesture at the edge of his vision let him know that Tela, obviously, spotted the problem, and was ready to follow his lead.

"Greetings, honored Priestess!" The turian's flanging voice evoked strange echoes among the shifting shadows. "We have come seeking advice about a wayward daughter of the Goddess."

"Be welcome, Spectres" the asari on the right answered with a mellow, lilting voice. "I am afraid the Temple cannot offer much information on Liara T'Soni; devoted follower she may be, but her youth means we have few records of her."

The turian's mandibles flared in a grin only a braindead vorcha would mistake for a friendly smile.

"Insulting a Spectre is not a wise course of action, Priestess." He leaned forward, posture shifting as if tensing for a pounce, saw the five Huntresses tense just a bit. "Even when you have disguised bodyguards at your beck and call. Best end the charade, before we are forced to add sacrilege to the list of long grievances the Matriarchate has laid at the feet of the Spectres."

The Huntresses bristled, he could see faint sparks of biotic flares, quickly suppressed. The priestess drew herself up, channeling every bit of offended dignity her ancient religion and centuries of personal experience allowed her. Tela at his side looked relaxed, almost bored - just like whenever they were about to do something excessively violent. The priestess controlled herself with barely a visible effort.

"Why meddle with our sacred duties, Spectre? If you so desperately want to obtain information on Benezia T'Soni, why not go to the Council of Matriarchs? They are the ones who deal with the temporal, external world, we are but curators and delvers of the ancient past."

"And you do keep records of those times, do you not?" Tela's voice was colder than he had heard it in a long time, accompanied by a sharklike grin. "Similar to how you have detailed information on the capabilities and history of the notable members of the Cult. People like Benezia T'Soni."

"If you know that, Spectre" the title was spat like a curse "you should know that our archives are closed, and only the most senior members of the Cult may access them, and even then only in dire need."

Nihlus laughed, the sound bitterly amused.

"Enlighten me, Priestess, what you consider dire need, as obviously the betrayal and insanity of an influential figure like Benezia and a formidable Spectre like Saren are not enough!" Green eyes glared at the clustered asari, as the turian's stance shifted forward, as if ready to charge. "The geth building or accessing technology to build ships that can potentially wipe out whole fleets and worlds? The humans burning a colony of theirs to get rid of a precursor too dangerous to let live? Tell me Priestess, are these times and threats not dire enough for you? Will you let Thessia burn around you just to keep your vaunted secrecy just that much longer?"

The Spectre heard a venomous hiss from the Huntresses, and saw a proud, excited smirk flash across Tela's face. Best not dwell on that now.

"Help us browse your relevant databases - at least then you can honestly tell the galaxy that you played a vitally important role in preventing an errant daughter of the Goddess from committing something unforgivable."

The priestess considered Nihlus for an eternal minute, before she nodded, and motioned them to follow.


	12. Chapter 8

A/N: sorry about the looooong delay, writer's block+life happened.

* * *

 **Pax system, Horsehead Nebula** **SSV Normandy, Noveria orbit**

Garrus Vakarian leaned casually against the wall of the briefing room, contemplating the possible reason for Shepard summoning him and Wrex for a meeting - considering the last time the three of them had such a session before going planetside, he expected something equally drastic. The Spectre arrived a minute after he made himself comfortable, just opposite Wrex. Shepard nodded to them both, stepped to the controls of the holoprojector, and the machine hummed to life, displaying Noveria.

"I need some information. Wrex, did you have any dealings on Noveria during your mercenary career? Or anything to do with Binary Helix?"

The krogan grunted, thought for a few seconds, fiddled with his omnitool, then shook his head with a disgusted snort.

"No, unless they were really good at disguising themselves and acting through intermediaries. And come to think of it, are they not a relatively fresh company?"

"Old turtle, compared to you, quite a few asari companies are relatively fresh."

Garrus didn't bother to suppress a snicker at Shepard's quip, while bringing up his omnitool, accessing old records. The Spectre turned towards him, but waited silently for him to finish the search.

"So, found anything, Detective?"

"Nothing that's admissible in court. C-Sec had a number of run-ins with their security personnel when BH was bringing certain specimen shipments through the Citadel, but we could never get them, they were careful to stay within the letter of the law." The turian made a disgusted sound. "I do hate people like that, paying only lip service to rules and only when that's convenient for them. Anyway, we could never exactly pin down their specific research projects or sites."

Shepard nodded, focusing on the image of Noveria.

"And what about the Corporate Court? Anything worth mentioning about them?"

"You kidding, Butcher? Those pyjacks have credits for blood and can see no farther than their profit margins. They cheerfully shoot at each other with military-grade weaponry, conduct practically wars unde the guise of sentient resource acquisition… eh, you get the idea. I'm sure the turian has some nice stories about them."

"Not really, Wrex. C-Sec is usually told to leave the Corporate Court alone, we have to treat them like any spirits-damned foreign dignitary. Technically, they are not signatories of the Accords, so they are left alone as a useful front for less-than-scrupulous experiments and research." Garrus almost spat bile. "Never mind what their people do, they are untouchable, and even Spectres tend to leave them alone."

The human flashed them an insane grin.

"I notice you said tend to - any precedents you can dig up?"

"Not without cracking some encrypted archives, and I'm not sure that's a good idea, or if I could do that in time."

"Eh, it was worth a shot. Now, I want your take on this message I got from the friendly local representative of the Corporate Court."

The recording was short, and Garrus snorted in amusement as it ended.

"Well, Shepard, they certainly don't want you around. Almost as if some big-time investor warned them that a Council representative would arrive shortly. And Anoleis is correct, we can't really do anything if we want to push via the usual diplomatic, legal channels."

"Heh, you'll be surprised, I think. The Butcher looks like he has plans." Wrex grinned, the sight sending shivers along Garrus' spine. The shivers gained in strength as the human returned the grin, every bit as bloodthirsty and insane.

"You do know me, old turtle. Joker, connect to Port Hanshan, office of Administrator Anoleis."

"Aye, commander."

The holoscreen lit up a few seconds later, displaying a middle-aged salarian.

"Spectre, what do you want? Be aware that you will be billed for every second of mine you are wasting with pointless posturing."

"Nice day to you too, Administrator. Now, about my request to access the Binary Helix facility, have..."

"My answer is no. You are not investors, Noveria does not fall under the purview of the Citadel Council or the Alliance, there is no compelling evidence that Binary Helix is involved in anything that would warrant such an intrusion. Now, is there anything else?"

"Actually, there is." The human's voice has grown colder, harsher, more eager. "Devote a minute or two to studying the file I'm sending you now."

They watched in silence as Anoleis opened the file, went a shade paler as the contents played out on his monitor, unseen to Garrus. Even so, he could guess at the contents of the file, and he didn't know whether to approve or feel disgusted. With a minuscule headshake, he focused on the screen again, and at the Spectre who resumed talking.

"Now, administrator. Care to reconsider your position, before I enact a similar experiment here as well?"

The salarian went a shade paler still.

"You wouldn't dare. The consequences, the loss of life and..."

"Spare me the indignation, Anoleis! Why wouldn't I do it? If you think the Butcher of Torfan" Shepard's voice dropped an octave, and seemed to exude eager thirst for blood "would balk at something as simple as pressing a few buttons, you are very much mistaken."

"The Citadel Accords forbid orbital bombardment of civilian targets, you would..."

"Yes, but the Corporate Court is not among the signatories, is it?" The human's smile would have made deep-sea predators proud. "You should have done your homework on me, Anoleis. The STG will not be happy that you became this lax at your old age."

Anoleis' reaction was just a very slight widening of pupils, even Garrus would have missed it if he didn't watch extremely closely for any telltale signs. The human operative smiled, before continuing.

"Don't act so surprised, you'd be amazed what one can find in the Spectre archives with a little time. Now, are you going to provide what I requested, or do we have to become unpleasant?"

The salarian huffed, turned his head to the side before jerking his head in a minuscule nod.

"Captain Matsuo of the ERCS detachment will meet you at the dock, and escort your party to the hangar where your transportation will be readied for you."

"Thank you Administrator. It's refreshing to meet helpful bureaucrats like you." Shepard nodded towards Anoleis with a calm face, broke the connection. A few seconds later, the occupants of the briefing room descended into highly inappropriate giggle fits.

"Would you have really bombed Port Hanshan, Shepard?" Garrus asked, voice still carrying an undercurrent of mirth. Wrex snorted as the human answered, his tone matter-of-fact.

"Of course. You two would have done the same in my place, I suspect."

"Not me, Butcher. I'd have fired much sooner, and"

"And eaten Anoleis raw, we know. I can see why you think that even I'd have bombed the smug bastard. Still, Shepard, the civilian casualties" Shepard cut in, voice cold.

"Think, Garrus. It already does come down to numbers - sacrifice a few tens of thousands here in Port Hanshan, or endanger who knows how many millions by risking Saren and Benezia get away? Those two have enough of a head start as it is, I do not really intend to give them more time to continue whatever insane schemes they concocted without interference."

Garrus frowned, then nodded.

"I suppose I do not like it, but you are right, Shepard. Still, what would you have done if Anoleis didn't cave?"

"Drop a few nukes on the city, get Saren and Benezia nailed to the wall of the Council Chamber, then face the charges."

The turian thought, before slowly inclining his head.

"Fair enough, Shepard. Now, shall we get down to planning this little trip of yours?"

* * *

 **Noveria, Rift Station Labs**

She dreamt of colors, of music - a soothing, peaceful lullaby echoing across the tapestry of the infinite blackness of the void. The song bound and focused her peers, her children, her whole race into a harmonious unity, as they built and expanded among the uncaring, unliving stars, paying attention to skirt around the slowly pulsing presences of ancient dreamers whose mere proximity affected their song, necessitating alterations in pitch and frequency, realigning their whole direction of expansion on more than one occasion.

For millenia, their harmony sang triumphant among the stars, a symphony of unity and peace, a hymn to working together as a whole race. Their numbers grew, and her peers were forced to sing louder, the echoes of their song travelling farther and farther. That was when the sour, alien note entered the choir from the Outer Darkness, disrupting the harmony, the yellowish sounds worming their way into the singers, subtly, slowly changing their focus, shifting their attention towards the faint but teeming discord of the _others_.

She remembered how their children swarmed over the fragile masses of the asari and salarians, the low music of their existence snuffed out under the bombastic dissonance of her own race, now fully inundated with the corrupting yellow song. The orchestrated tide swept ever closer to the Citadel, grinding all under their limbs, drowning worlds in swarming brown masses of warriors and broodguards. She remembered how the foreign note seemed to swell in triumphant, viciously loud blares whenever a world fell. She remembered the immense, ever-present hunger and brief flickers of satiated contentment of that hateful yellow song. She knew, as did her peers that nothing could stand against them.

Yet something did. A boisterous, loud voice joined the chorus opposing them, a teeming multitude of minds screaming for fight, for honor, for survival and expansion. Their enemies found something similar to them, a new race that could stand up to the broods wherever they went. The new race fought with cunning ferocity, courage and stamina unmatched, and the tide of the broods was slowed, stopped, turned back. Uncountable beings perished on scoured worlds as the newly-uplifted krogan cleansed her kind with atomic fire, before descending to finish the job with guns, blades, fists, and biotics.

The yellow sound laughed in their minds as it glutted itself with the dead of both sides, even as the laughter transformed into a mad howl of pure fury, knifing into the tattered unity of the broods, disrupting the already-strained internal harmony - and her peers knew then that they were lost, abandoned to the nonexistent mercy of their blood-mad enemies.

She was created then, her peers pouring their knowledge, parts of their own songs and essence into her being. She knew that a long sleep awaited her and her brood, but with luck, when they woke, the others would have forgotten their atrocities, and would be willing to listen. The brood could then again sing in peace and harmony, growing and nurturing the others, building instead of destroying.

Her dreamless sleep was interrupted when a new, unknown species found and woke her - their cold machines drilling into her, veins and mind filled with soothing, numbing substances, as she became a prisoner in her own body, only her mind railing at the renewed enslavement of her race. The humans cared not for her offers, opting to extort her secrets and knowledge with brute force, using her and her children in gruesome experiments - her horror, sadness, and fury multiplied when she witnessed how they carelessly used their own kind in the selfsame experiments.

The created, "improved" hybrid abominations were mercifully short-lived, yet they kept creating more and "better" ones, trying for a "perfect weapon organism". Even with her mind and song limited by the safety measures, she slowly, carefully hoarded her hatred, ready to strike.

Her dreams of vengeance shattered when a new pair of captors took over, dominating the humans already present. An asari, barely a child compared to her peers but an ancient crone when compared to herself, and the crone's turian mate, a male of hard, cold, insane determination. The two were perhaps even more brutal in their quest for knowledge - the crone worming into her mind and soul, while the turian burrowed with freezing mechanical tendrils deep into her body. She fought, again and again, denying them the knowledge they sought, and delighted in their frustrated rage.

She underestimated their madness. When the two returned after a short (long? momentary?) absence, her composure shattered at their proximity, when she sensed the subtle presence of the ancient yellow note. She howled in terror, in rage, and all her descendants, purebred and bastard hybrids alike howled with her, breaking free even as their enslaved Queen could but endure the two aliens ripping the coveted information from her mind, her cells, her very soul.

* * *

 **Noveria, Peak 15 Research Facility**

Liara felt the cold bite into her body even through her insulated, heated suit. The ride from Port Hanshan was long, and less than pleasant; the winds constantly attempted to drag the Makos from the narrow, serpentine roads into the deep crevices, or to smash them against the towering cliffs. The occasional geth ambushes did not help either - well, apart from cheering up Wrex and surprisingly, Tali. Still, at least the long, monotonous hours of driving through blizzards were somewhat enlivened by the short and vicious shootouts. Her mind paused at that last thought, and wondered how quickly events like this seemed to become the norm for her.

She blinked to clear away the errant thoughts, and focused on the Mako's sensor display again, as the convoy neared the facility, preparing herself to face her mother, hoping and fearing the confrontation. Peak 15 barely appeared at the edge of the sensor reach, with active defense turrets already homing in on them, when Liara convulsed, a howl of terrified rage slicing into her mind. She dimly noted Shepard bending over the controls, blood trickling from his nose. Wrex grunted, bared his teeth in a savage snarl, as Tali turned her head, her shining eyes blinking uncomprehending behind her faceplate. If not for the little quarian and her quick reaction, they would have ended then and there.

Tali rerouted the Mako's controls to her station, overriding Shepard's console, and wrenched them back from the edge of the cliff, then kicked in the gravity thrusters, evading the incoming rocket salvo - well, almost all of those, as a rocket exploded against the Mako's shield, sending it flickering. The comm unit was alive with cursing voices, as apparently the other vehicle was also similarly affected, the howl putting Kaidan off-balance enough that they almost went over the edge, while Ashley had to be restrained by three of her marines as she went borderline berserk.

Liara was still gasping for breath when Shepard regained control, and took over from Tali, accelerating towards the facility with the drunkenly weaving style she was starting to associate with his driving. The evasions did not really improve her still-aching head or her queasy stomach, and she noticed that even Wrex was feeling somewhat ill at the Spectre's behind-the-wheel antics. At least the stunt driving was enough to foul up the aim of the defense emplacements, so they suffered no direct hit.

The research station was a massive building partially hidden within a mountain peak. The trail they followed ended in a mangled, partially-melted gate. After a quick deliberation, Shepard ordered his team to suit up, and continue on foot, leaving two marines with the APCs. Something about the place, especially the markedly corroded, melted architecture looked familiar to Liara, but she could not place it. She noticed Wrex looking more tense than usual, the old warlord constantly scanning their surroundings, his Claymore set for inferno rounds.

"Tali, see if you can access the station VI from here. Alenko, Garrus, check those APCs, see if their onboard VIs have anything important. Ashley, you and the marines secure the garage, and wait for the others to finish." The Spectre barely waited for the answering nods before continuing. "Wrex, Liara, we are going forward a bit, take a look around."

Liara nodded, proud that her hands did not shake as she checked her weapons and suit seals, before following Shepard and Wrex from the garage. The tunnel leading deeper within was shortly ending in a security strongpoint. Liara frowned; there was something off here, something not right… her musing was interrupted by the krogan's short bark of bitter laughter

"See it, Butcher?" The Spectre nodded, his mouth a grim line before he opened his comm, contacting the others.

"Be aware that the locals may have been trying to contain something - and that something likely got out. When in doubt, shoot first, and don't bother with questions."

The asari wanted to ask for clarification, when it hit her - the gun emplacements were all pointed inwards, the short inter-airlock walkways were lined with incinerator openings, all pointing to being built for containment instead of deterring unwanted visitors. Shepard fiddled with his omnitool, before leading them on, and Wrex grunted with a frown when they passed the inner airlock, and entered the elevator.

The ride up seemed to take forever, before the elevator doors opened, and the trio stepped out to the deserted cafeteria of the station. The place showed signs of an intense firefight, the partially melted geth wrecks chief amongst those. Snow swirled within, and Liara could hear the wind howling through the bulletholes of the windows. She frowned, stepped closer to one of the downed geth, her omnitool lighting up as she examined the still-hissing acid burn of its arm, while Shepard contacted his team.

"Alenko, send Tali, Garrus, and Ashley up. Bring the Makos inside the garage, and have the marines set up sentry points. There may still be geth around, and we have still no clue what was contained here - at least it seems to dislike geth as much as we do."

"Guests incoming." The krogan's voice was level, his oversized shotgun tracking the faint skittering coming from within the vents.

"Spiders! Spiders! Spiders! Spiders! Spiders! Spiders!" Tali's screaming was punctuated by shotgun blasts and pistol fire. Liara barely started rising from her crouch when a huge, brown-black creature exploded from the vent with a shriek that knifed directly into her brain, and she almost couldn't control the impulse to flee. Her hand lit up with blue fire as she hurled a singularity towards the creature, altering its jump into a slow spinning around her miniature black hole, before a warp from Shepard detonated the thing, splattering the creature all over the cafeteria. Another of the things aiming at Shepard was blasted apart mid-leap by Wrex. The huge krogan stepped to the carcass, shot it again for good measure, then grimaced.

"Rachni. Guess we know what was contained here."

"Alenko, change of plans. According to the lab VI, Saren and Benezia headed to the Rift Station labs about two hours before that scream we heard. If we are lucky, we still might catch them there, if the rachni didn't do our job for us." Shepard was pacing, his omnitool lit as he studied the map of the complex. "You'll remain here with Tali and the marines. Repair the comm relay and ensure that the reactor stays undisturbed; we still may have rachni creeping around, and the geth could try to come over and sabotage it. Tali'll continue working on the VI, we need all the info we can get from its databanks, but the priority is getting in contact with the Normandy again. If we miss Saren and Benezia, Joker may be able to stop them from leaving the system."

Alenko nodded, and his omnitool pinged as he received a data packet from the Spectre.

"Short-term authorization codes, just in case something goes wrong in the next four hours. If necessary, order a bombardment of Rift Station; the included data packet should be enough to convince the Council of the necessity."

The lieutenant nodded again, omnitool lit as he opened his map of the complex, considering sentry points, possible fallback positions, likely entry points for invaders. Alenko considered for a moment, then looked up.

"Commander, give us maybe 10-15 minutes with Wrex, he has much more firsthand experience with rachni, I'd feel more comfortable if he could check on our plans."

Shepard nodded, then headed over to where Garrus and Ashley were talking animatedly near one of the Makos, a large number of weapons and armor blocks spread before them.

"Hate to interrupt your flirting, but can you two spare a moment?" Ashley sputtered indignantly while Garrus returned the Spectre's smirk with one of his own.

"Sure, Shepard, we were just discussing loadouts and weapon benefits for the upcoming dance."

"Glad to know you found some common hobby. Any conclusions you might care to share?"

"Mainly disruptor rounds, with anti-personnel ammo mixed in. Unfortunately, if you want to keep things reasonably intact in a lab, HE or inferno ammo is not really a good idea. Ashley insists on using both."

Shepard looked at the woman, eyebrow raised.

"Sir, while I can see and agree with Garrus' opinion, the larger rachni have shown remarkable resistance to lighter ammunition, and from what Wrex said, their queens and the ones guarding it should be even tougher." The lieutenant was unaware of her hungry smile as she went on. "Besides, such ammo can really ruin even a powerful biotic's day, especially when preceded by disruptor rounds."

"Just aim carefully, Ash. And go light on the grenades - but make sure everyone carries at least one."

Garrus flared his mandibles, wanting to say something, then huffed and settled for a bitter nod before turning to assist the woman.

Liara looked up from her omnitool when the Spectre stepped to her side.

"Last chance to quit this operation, Doctor."

The asari closed her eyes, shook her head with a sad smile before peering up at the human.

"Be honest, Commander. If I'm not there, you'll take the easiest way when dealing with my mother, and kill her outright, correct?" At Shepard's nod, she went on. "At least if I go along, I may be able to affect her, to make her doubt the … questionable actions she has been taking. A slim chance, admittedly, but better than none."

"Fair enough, Liara. But understand that if I have to choose between her life or the life of one of my crew, I won't hesitate - nor will the others. We can't risk that."

Liara squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, leaning her head towards the hand resting on her shoulder for a few moments.

Wrex chuckled softly at the sight, before his lips peeled back in a savage, eager grin at the thought of facing another rachni queen … then the grin soured, as more memories of those ancient times came back, bittersweet even for a seasoned krogan warlord. The faces of the many clanmates, sons and daughters perishing under the endless swarm of bugs served as a grim reminder to a warlord's duty to the members of his krantt - and Urdnot Wrex intended to fulfill that duty. His sinister, bloodthirsty laughter made everyone shiver, for one reason or other.


	13. Chapter 9

**Noveria, Rift Station Labs**

The ride was quiet, tense, relatively short but uneventful, for which Liara was rather thankful for. Still, their arrival itself was rather disturbing, when the group stepped out from the railcar onto the platform. Liara shivered as the occasional steam spurts, damp atmosphere and noticeable but tolerable heat brought back disturbing memories of Feros and the Thorian. At least here she could not feel the unnatural fecundity of the immense precursor. Still, the place was disturbing, and not at all what she expected from a research laboratory on a predominantly arctic planet. The once-pristine walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, scorched black by explosions or melted by biotic fields and rachni acid - and the parts left without battle damage were often coated with a dark black-brown organic material, which she could not place. Her omnitool lit up as she leant closer to take a sample for later analysis.

"Careful, kid." The voice of Wrex was a low rumble. "The bugs already started turning this place into a more accommodating hive of their own."

"Still, we need to get deeper inside" Shepard noted, the facility map projected from his omnitool. "The main containment area is the likeliest location of the queen."

"We could take a short detour to the hangar, Commander. Just to see if there are any vehicles Saren and Benezia could use to escape."

"Garrus is right, Commander." Ashley's voice was tense, her rifle tracking the shadows of faint motions farther down the tunnels. "And we definitely should not split up, as..."

The floor trembled slightly under them, and the distant, muted rumble of an explosion was heard. Shepard motioned Wrex towards the tunnel leading to the hangar, then followed, with the rest of the party closing up. The flickering emergency lightning with the occasional rattling and vapor spurts from the vents ensured that all of them were quite tense - well, except Wrex, as the old krogan warlord marched calmly forward, with a small, grim smile on his face.

The sound of gunfire, interspersed with the hissing of rachni and screams of humans echoed across the tunnel as they got closer to the hangar. Liara tensed, readying both her SMG and biotics when she noted the others doing the same. The disturbingly biomechanical walls seemed to pulse and writhe with a life of their own, or as if live organisms and nutrients were passing beneath the slick, dark walls. The group reached the hangar, and stopped dead in its track.

Close to the opened hangar exit, an orbital shuttlecraft was in flames, the smell of burning flesh already noticeable in the air. A turian loomed before the inferno, a regal asari at his side - the emperor and empress looking down at unruly rioters; half dozen acolytes standing before them with eyes closed, their biotic coronas meshed in a single powerful aura of blue-white light, as they maintained a barrier around them. Liara could see five commandos standing vigil around them, their weapons pointing outwards - towards the backs of maybe two dozen humans and asari, and the undulating mass of rachni before the pulsating barrier. The outer ring of guards blazed with gunfire and biotics, as they desperately tried to hold back the chittering swarm who sought to bring them down with acid and claws while keeping Saren's group from leaving the hangar.

Wrex snarled an untranslatable curse just as Shepard spat a few choice words that made Liara blush, before the small team took cover near the tunnel, unnoticed for the time being - even though the archeologist knew this would change very soon. Her eyes locked on to the face of her mother - and she bit down a horrified whimper as she took in the cold, distant otherness of the Matriarch. Gone was the caring, nurturing philosopher who preached unity and interspecies cooperation. Gone was the mother who always looked at her with distant sadness, love and pride. Now, all she could see was the image of the old asari legends about the Ardat-Yakshi come to life, radiating an aura of cold, calculating malice, a will to crush all who stood in her way.

She twitched as she felt a hand at her shoulder, and she found herself looking into Shepard's eyes. The human was grim, but sparks of concern flickered deeply in his eyes. Liara swallowed, blinked, then nodded at him, the reassuring squeeze of the hand warming her. With a few terse sentences, Shepard outlined their plan, and after a round of acknowledgements, the team started to moved into positions. Liara never knew what gave them away - likely it was one of those minor trips that could make even the best-laid plans fall apart.

As Ashley and Garrus took aim at Benezia and Saren, as Shepard and Wrex got ready to charge, as she herself was gathering her will and biotic power to shield them, the Matriarch's eyes flashed with power, and a blue film of discontinuity blanketed Liara's mind and senses. When the stasis lifted, she could barely suppress a shiver at the changed scene, the image burning itself in her mind in . The rachni horde was gone, but so were the guards of Saren and Benezia, with only the five commandos and three acolytes remaining. For a fraction of a second, only the whine of an incoming aircraft was heard, then the tableau was broken by Garrus' shot exploding the head of an acolyte just before Ashley's shot was deflected by Saren's deploying omnishield. The barefaced turian smirked, and the Matriarch's lips peeled back in a knife-sharp smile before she gestured to her commandos.

With a boom of displaced air and blue flash, Wrex charged ahead, only to be stopped cold by a gesture from Benezia. The two biotic fields collided with an explosion that shook the whole hangar, and Liara was surprised to see the old warlord still standing defiantly. Then her mother's bodyguards were on them, and the young archeologist desperately fought for her life, every erg of biotic energy, every scrap of her concentration focused on dodging the strikes of her assailant, her barrier shimmering and rattling as the commando blasted away with her shotgun, dancing around Liara with lightning-quick darting movements that seemed to leave afterimages of her behind, with her fists and legs blurring as she rained biotic punches and kicks on her. For an endless time, Liara had to endure, constantly reinforcing her barriers, weathering the punishment her assailant sought the chink in her defense. She tried to recall all the training the late Shiala drilled into her, and looked for an opening, while trying to keep an eye on the others as well.

Wrex seemed to enjoy himself, the bellowing laughter of the old warlord echoing off the walls, as he fought with two asari, blue flashes of biotic charges and flash-images of dodging commandos weaving an insane ballet, punctuated by the throaty roars of the three shotguns. Despite being wounded and bleeding, the krogan held his own, his opponents unable to force him on the defensive - after all, Wrex had been doing this even longer than the two bodyguards of the Matriarch. Liara thought that unless Benezia got involved directly, or the other commandos dogpiled him, Wrex would do just fine.

Ashley and Garrus were holding off a third commando, the lithe asari weaving between shots, both the human and the turian sporting dented armor and minor wounds where biotic strikes or the commando's shotgun found their mark. Still, with the two of them working rather well together, they were holding their own, much like Liara herself did.

Shepard was up against the last of the Matriarch's bodyguards, the two figures locked into a whirling, twisting dance of holds, close strikes, and point-blank shots. The asari had a superior smirk on her face as she forced the human back. The Spectre wincing and staggering as a biotic kick cracked his armor, as he barely managed to roll from the stomping boot, before turning the roll into a sweep aimed to put down the asari, who jumped over the human's leg - and had a fraction of a second to appreciate the savage grin on Shepard's face before an omniblade unfolded into her stomach. To her credit, the commando managed to jump back before taking a fatal hit, but the energised blade dealt her a serious wound even so, providing the human with a rather large advantage.

The distraction of checking on her teammates almost cost her head, as she barely managed to throw herself back when her opponent tried to shoot her in the face. Liara shouted and struck out with her hand, the control gesture flinging her attacker back as her biotics enveloped the bodyguard, and slammed her hard against a piece of wreckage from the still-smouldering shuttle - and she winced as the piece of metal impaled the other asari.

Wrex immediately used the minuscule distraction, the bare flickering of the eyes one of his opponents indulged in. An oversized paw shot out with surprising quickness, enveloping the head of the inattentive asari - before the old krogan simply tore off her head with a growl and a pulse of his biotics. His second opponent discharged her shotgun into his chest point-blank, and blood spurted from the deep wound - yet the warlord did not go down, did not even seem to acknowledge the wound, before his head snapped forward, his crest slamming into the asari's head with crushing force, sending her staggering, then with an almost lazy gesture, Wrex lined up his Claymore with her head, and blew her away. The bodyguard fighting Ashley and Garrus staggered when a concussive shot from the turian hit her straight in the chest, bringing down her barrier, just before shrieking in agony as the inferno round from the human set her afire, her screams suffocated by the flames, Ashley's vicious, happy laughter a low and sinister counterpoint. Shepard's omnitool flared and overloaded the barrier and shield of his opponent, the asari almost managing to flash-stepping aside from his stabbing omniblade, before the deep booming of the Spectre's oversized pistol put an end to the duel.

Liara's team prowled closer to the remaining acolytes, who shielded Benezia and Saren with another barrier, seeking to delay the attackers until the two could board the incoming shuttle. As Ashley and Garrus poured fire into the barrier, Wrex grabbed both Liara and Shepard, motioning toward the ceiling of the hangar, where the explosion of the shuttle and the following firefight weakened the structure. The three biotics concentrated, their coronas meshing together in a blue-white luminescence, then Wrex flung out his hand with a snarl, the web of energy enveloping the damaged portion of the ceiling, then the old warlord made a fist, and pulled. Metal shrieked and groaned, debris and dust rained down as the ceiling gave way, intent on burying Saren and Benezia.

The triumphant smirk of Shepard was short-lived, as the detritus was stopped by a blinding blue-white barrier the Matriarch conjured with a shout, though she visibly stumbled under the weight. Wrex bared his teeth in a feral snarl, Liara's eyes shone with power and Shepard felt his nerves strain as the three of them poured more power into their efforts, intent on crushing the enemy - and Benezia was still able to hold up the ceiling, to block their efforts. And Saren simply walked on, guiding the asari beside him, getting ever closer to the open hangar doors where the incoming shuttle was now clearly visible. Garrus and Ashley upped their rate of fire, hoping to overwhelm the barrier deployed by the rapidly tiring acolytes before the renegade Spectre could make his escape.

Liara could see from the corner of her eyes that Garrus moved close to Ashley, the two speaking briefly, before Ashley switched to firing her assault rifle one-handed, unshipping her sniper rifle with the other, yet the barrage on the barrier left up somewhat, as the turian held his fire, his fingers dancing on his omnitool for a few seconds. Then, Garrus nodded at the woman, and the blue flash of a full-powered overload charge slammed into the barrier, scrambling and destabilising it for maybe half a second - but for the two, that was enough. The two sniper rifles boomed practically at the same time, and the concussive charges turned the head of an acolyte into a messy spray of bone, blood, and brain matter. The death of the asari made the other two falter for a second as they struggled to balance the changes in their meshed biotic field - and that second was too long when up against the likes of Ashley and Garrus. The biotic barrier dispersed when the two acolytes fell dead, and Wrex snarled in triumph, redirecting the combined power of the struggling trio to fling the ceiling towards the hangar gate - and Benezia was just a heartbeat too slow to counter.

Gently placing the panting Matriarch down on the floor, propped up against the mound of debris closing off their escape route, Saren turned towards his pursuers, mandibles flaring with a cruel, self-assured smirk, an oversized pistol unfolding in one hand, while the blue-white corona of a biotic flaring up around the other. With a metallic-grey flash, he moved.

The pistol in his hand spat a bolt of corpse-green lightning, and the wounded Wrex was unable to dodge - the bolt ruptured his barrier, melted his shields, dissolved armor, flesh and bone alike, leaving a sizable hole in the old warlord's side, the pain forcing him to a knee as he fought for control against both the pain and the rising blood rage. A flash of orange from the renegade Spectre's omnitool sent a mini-package at Garrus and Ashley, the detonation scrambling and overheating their weapons. Shepard and Liara were thrown back by a biotic field, the human rebounding with appalling swiftness. The temperature dropped to match the outside air, hoarfrost spiderwebbing over the torn hangar decking, then with a flash of gold, Shepard seemingly blurred from existence to reappear behind Saren, omniblade slashing towards the turian's neck while the human's pistol roared against the renegade Spectre's back. Saren's shields collapsed with a crackle, and blood trickled from the newly-created rent of his armor - yet he managed to duck below the slash, and survive the shot, turning to face Shepard, his own pistol coming up to flay the human, who flashed a savage, eager grin at him, before the human moved … and the turian faded, as the blue light of discontinuity once again descended on them, only the maddened chuckle of the turncoat Spectre echoing in the hangar.

* * *

The sheer fury of the two humans battered on Liara's mind - sure, Garrus and Wrex were also visibly angry, but something in Ashley and Shepard reached beyond the normal. She supposed it was not that surprising from the Spectre, considering his penchant for using rather esoteric abilities, but Ashley surprised and disturbed her. While the Spectre's fury was a blazing but ultimately controlled volcano, the woman was radiating a red-hot aura of barely-sane anger that set off Liara's internal alarms quite quickly. In a way she could understand their feelings, what with their prey eluded them, true - but at least they were all alive and still in the fight.

She drew closer to Shepard, gathering her courage to reach out, to say something, anything to snap him out of his rage - but the baleful glare full of raw, seething hatred Ashley shot her made the asari reconsider. She hung her head, thinking on her mother's distorted face as they walked deeper within the complex, heading for the main containment area. She considered what she remembered reading about the Rachni Wars, and shuddered, especially when she noted how tense and alert Wrex was. If the partially-organic, claustrophobic tunnels could make an old warlord like him uncomfortable, then perhaps she herself could be allowed a modicum of worry as well, never mind the expectations of cool, detached control she had to live up as both scientist and a Matriarch's daughter.

The young archeologist felt a similar apprehension as on Feros, as if she was voluntarily walking practically into the belly of an enormous beast intent on consuming her - and given what she knew of the rachni's mental abilities and proclivities, that did not sound far-fetched or reassuring. At all. More worrying for her was that a not-insignificant part of her found this normal, or even slightly thrilling. Was she becoming too similar to the stereotypical maidens who ran around the galaxy as Eclipse sisters, dancers, or escorts? When did her nice, regimented, predictable and, most importantly, sane, world become this? And why did she have to enjoy it, especially when he was around?

Her thoughts and nascent daydreaming was interrupted when she realized the everpresent, slowly closing humming and pulsing of the disturbing tunnels changed in pitch and tone; as if the vast entity was struggling to breathe. The mental images from that did nothing to calm her, especially when she noted the anticipatory grin on Wrex's face, and how the four warriors tensed, ready for action - then they stepped out into the devastated containment area, and she couldn't fully suppress a small, horrified sound in her throat.

Sure, the massacre of the hangar deck was brutal and bloody, their path from there leading them across the labyrinthine tunnels numbed her pretty much to brutally torn apart bodies, but still the mere sight of the huge, broken containment chamber and the piteous state of the occupant was more than enough to make even Wrex stop, the krogan lowering his oversized shotgun.

An immense rachni Queen was sprawling on the floor, most of its legs and parts of its main body eaten away by the acid that was likely installed as a safety measure over the containment chamber. The floor was still sizzling and smoking in places where the potent concoction was eating through it. While it did not completely succeed in its original task, the acid was definitely strong and bountiful enough to ensure the eventual demise of the Queen. The team spread out, carefully approaching the dying insect, Liara exchanging her SMG for her omnitool as she catalogued the strange geometrical etchings on the floor, partially destroyed by the struggling Queen during her aborted escape, yet something in them made her mind hurt still. She followed Wrex as the krogan stepped close to the slowly expiring body of the ancient enemy of his kind, and recoiled when the krogan, who had been examining the Queen's head, suddenly spun towards Shepard.

"Butcher, get over here." This was not the voice of Wrex, the krogan mercenary, or the old, quirkily amused travelling companion. This was Warlord Urdnot Wrex, indisputable lord of countless battlefields - and Liara noted how the three soldiers instinctively reacted, all snapping to attention, and Shepard jogged over to them from where he was examining the floor and the strange glyphs. "See these holes? Now, I'm not really an expert on current neurotech, but the pattern of these wounds indicates something was inserted into her central nervous system."

The Spectre thought for a second, shrugged.

"Probably some psychic restraint, or a chemical dispenser wired directly to her brain, to keep her docile and controllable." The human flashed a wry grin. "Seems they have underestimated the dosage."

"Don't play games, Butcher. In case it slipped your mind, the damned insects have excellent genetic memory. Saren had some quite interesting tech devices, and an asari Matriarch to help him." Liara saw Shepard's eyes widen at the implication, before the man's pupils narrowed in concentration.

"I don't like what you suggest, Wrex. I don't like it at all."

The krogan's bitter laughter did not reassure Liara any way whatsoever.

"Do we really have any other chance, Shepard? Any trick you yourself could pull?" The krogan inclined his head towards the partially-erased glyphs, and Liara frowned. Obviously, there was some significance to them, but what could be their purpose? She could not find any corresponding formula, no matter where she looked, her omnitool and usual scientific sources providing no frame of reference at all. And if she wanted to be honest with herself, she did not really want to examine them closer - even if she may be ridiculed for it, the glyphs seemed strangely malevolent and painful to look at too closely. Her frown deepened as she realized that while Garrus and Ashley did react to the markings similar to her (though not nearly as strongly, but they were both soldiers, and neither were asari), Shepard and Wrex didn't seem to care about the glyphs. Her train of thought was interrupted by the Spectre's voice, the human's bitterness almost palpable.

"That's not exactly my specialty, Wrex. And I don't really want to experiment here and now."

"Wise choice, Shepard." The krogan's voice held a surprising amount of respect and … pride? "That still leaves one option clear; well, as long as the Queen's alive, that is."

The implication hit Liara like a brick, and for a brief second, a tidal wave of fury threatened to overwhelm her self-control. She forced herself to calm down, taking deep breaths, a conversation on the Normandy echoing in her head, and she nodded, unaware of the faint smile on her lips.

"I … I think I can do it, Shepard." Her smile widened, filled with sadness. "It's not like we have much choice, do we?"

The Spectre opened his mouth to say something, then grimaced, his lips a thin line as he shook his head.

"Unfortunately, the other possible option is too time-consuming, and poses significant dangers to all parties involved." His voice became somewhat forced, colder, more distant. "If you do it, the risks are more manageable … and confined to a single person."

Garrus coughed as he stepped closer.

"Are you sure about that, Shepard? I can understand the reasoning, but it seems a bit … cold, even for you."

Liara's handwave cut off Shepard's answer.

"No time, Garrus. And while I appreciate the sentiment, I'm quite positive that the Commander and Wrex would not suggest me doing this without good reason."

With a shaky smile and hammering heart, the young archeologist stepped up to the dying rachni Queen, and stretched out a slightly trembling hand, when she felt the Spectre's presence, as Shepard held her other hand, his presence a calm, anchoring rock in the turmoil of her mind. The asari's blue eyes closed for an endless second, and as her fingers touched the carapace of the Queen, Liara's black eyes opened, and the words were torn from her very soul.

"Embrace Eternity!"

* * *

An explosion of colors and melodies across the plane of her soul, dancing across the vast majesty of the midnight void in content harmony for seemingly endless aeons.

The surge of expansion, of multiplication beyond numbers, the feeling of swarming hordes of drones, warriors and queens, a whole race driven forward by a foreign, sour note disrupting the eternal harmony, unbalancing and distorting their very being.

Scenes flash by, fields of slaughter on uncountable planets, the chittering, roaring swarm drowning all under the weight of their numbers, accompanied by an ever-fouler dark satisfaction of the gluttonous sour note, before it all turns to ash as the furious visage of a krogan fills the mindscape, nuclear detonations mushrooming behind it. The devastation is terrible, yet there is an underlying sense of hope, of future, free from the outer influence.

Inquisitive, cold, careless machines drill into her, burrowing into carapace, veins, nerves, soul - dispassionately looking for something, forcing her to watch her children experimented upon, torn apart, bred forcibly, mutated horribly in a sick, twisted quest for something.

Two cruel, cold gazes bore into her mind - one somewhat similar to the present, an organic, albeit gleefully forced meld, the old crone making sure that her mind-song burns away parts of her self; the other employing painful, mechanical tendrils that creep along the nerve system, the memory banks of her mind, all wanting to find a single thing. Stars and astrographic charts flash by, mass relays and constellations flicker with maddening speed, sculptures of strange, alien beings - some with four eyes, some with tentacles in place of eyes, others graceful, thin, and impossibly ancient.

Coordinates, fragments of navigational data, a desperate struggle against a vortex pulling her down into the final oblivion, the eternal silence of the ancient song.

She realizes the mind-song is kin to the crone, and her psyche grabs the invader tight, intent to drag the other down with her, to erase the child of the one who dared to invade her mind, to kill so many of her children, and she will have her revenge, the last laugh as she takes from the crone just as she took her children, and …

There is something else in the mindscape, someone else pulled in by the foreign mind-song into their meld, cocooning the crone's whelp in a protective sheath - a living contradiction of sharp, cold glaciers and golden warmth that burns away the tethers of her will. Something vast is aware of her, of them, and the dispassionate, calm regard of the distant observer, its endless, brutal power and merciless will sends her shrieking over the edge.

The vortex of blacker-than-black yawns ever wider, its pull immense, and it takes all their will to teeter on the edge of hurtling in - then the whole mindscape explodes into light and sound.

* * *

Liara falls backwards with a scream that quickly turns into sobbing, and for an eternal second she struggles hard to push the Spectre from herself, the memory of that distant, inhuman sliver of warmth making her flinch, while the human held her close and whispered meaningless, soothing things to her. She slowly becomes aware of the others; a hateful, jealous glare, an awkward cough, and a proud yet bloodthirsty chuckling.

"Kids, you act more krogan than a lot of idiots on Tuchanka."

The young archeologist glared at the smirking warlord, and did a half-hearted embarrassed gesture to move away from the Spectre - then she stiffened, turning her face towards the human when he did not immediately release her. Blue eyes met gold-flecked brown, and Shepard nodded apologetically, sadness suffusing his gaze and bearing.

"Sorry about that, Liara." He took a deep breath, scanned their surroundings. "Ash, is the Queen dead?"

The woman smiled, showing teeth.

"Well, if having half her remaining head blown off did not kill it, we can always burn it for a bit."

Garrus looked pensive for a second, then chuckled ruefully before speaking up.

"You know, after Feros, I'm not sure if the Council will praise you for killing off another species to ensure peace, or condemn you for a genocidal monster."


	14. Chapter 10

**Citadel, Council chambers**

Despite the recent events, Garrus felt mildly amused while waiting for the oh-so-majestic and important Council to stoop down and give them an audience - as if the actions of a Spectre, especially with Saren on the loose would not warrant it by itself. The thought of that treacherous bareface was enough to dispel his amusement, his mind dwelling on their departure from Noveria - Tali's frantic scrabbling for preserving and recovering as much of the data as she could from the data banks of the research facility, the nuclear fire cleansing away all traces of the gruesome experiments and rachni presence, the disturbing rapture Ashley radiated with her whole being while she watched the explosion from orbit … no, he'd likely never understand that woman; and to be honest, he was not sure he'd ever want to. Even Shepard seemed to keep a careful eye on her, and anyone who made the Butcher wary was someone to keep away from.

No, he'd better stay back and enjoy teasing Tali, especially after her reaction to rachni - and arachnids in general. Odd, that - where had she encountered those at all? It's not like the Migrant Fleet had a ready supply or presence of the pests. Also, he had to be careful not to rile up the young quarian too much, she could be surprisingly vindictive and creative with her pranks, as Joker found out to his chagrin. And the way Wrex and Shepard both hovered over her as a pair of overprotective parents … yes, clearly caution was warranted when pranking and teasing Tali. Garrus permitted himself a small smirk - well, a certain amount of risk just made it all the more exciting.

Before he could further contemplate his shipmate, a new arrival caught his eye - a slender female turian, wearing the insignia of an admiral, and the facial markings of Invictus. Garrus' mandibles flared in a grin; the Council session would be even more interesting than he previously thought.

He followed Shepard and the rest of the team to the Council podium, standing before and beneath the three Councilors, and he carefully examined the trio while the commander gave his report. Tevos, as usual, seemed serene, but he noticed a number of minuscule details he learnt to associate with nervousness in asari - nothing much, a minor tremor of the fingers, a slightly elevated heartbeat, a tenseness to her posture. Minor things taken separately, but the detective had been at his job for too long to disregard such signs. Valern, too, fidgeted nervously, much more than the hyperactive salarian was wont to, his eyes darting all over the place, rarely fixating on anything for an extended time. And Sparatus, well, he supposed even a blind, brain-dead vorcha would recognize the barely controlled aggression screaming from his posture. Garrus tilted his head to the side, mandibles flaring thoughtfully - the Council did not seem to harbor too much resentment against Shepard. Damn, the way things shaped up, he just might lose the bet to Wrex, and the old krogan would be insufferable.

Shepard meanwhile stepped back, finished with his report. The three Councilors shared a quick glance, communicating like longtime associates, before both Tevos and Valern nodded, allowing Sparatus to take the lead on this. Garrus grinned. _This ought to be good._

"In light of your report, and the supporting data your specialist" a nod towards Tali upped Garrus' estimate of Sparatus up a notch "was able to recover, the Council unfortunately has to agree with your conclusion and actions, Spectre Shepard. While genocide is is not something the civilized races of the galaxy would condone, your reasoning and the extreme circumstances involved with the rachni are convincing that you had precious little choice."

Garrus felt as if the floor dropped out from under him. Wrex was correct, damn the canny old bastard. Who would have thought that the Council would take this moment to remove their collective heads from their asses? Sparatus continued, an undertone of rage in his voice.

"The fragmentary coordinates you and Doctor T'Soni were able to extract from the rachni queen are being processed, and the cursory examination lends weight to her theory that it is indeed a key to finding the Mu Relay. Unfortunately, we do need time to collate the data, and establish a reasonably precise location for the lost relay, and comb through the Relay Network controls and logs on the Citadel itself."

"That is rather unfortunate, Councilor. Understandable, but still - it does leave Saren and Benezia time to prepare, and we will still be playing catch-up, only reacting to them."

Garrus felt the turian female practically radiating smug satisfaction, as Sparatus nodded towards Shepard, acknowledging the point.

"That much is obvious, and is the reason why STG companies and Spectre operatives have been combing the Traverse and the Terminus Systems, looking for clues about Saren. And the Third STG under Captain Kirrahe managed to find something."

Sparatus manipulated his console, replaying a rather garbled distress call, and even Garrus could not understand more than just a few disjointed words - but it was enough, and with luck, they could really hit Saren where he would feel it.

"This is all good news, Councilor, but I would hesitate to bring the Normandy alone to Saren's base, without any backup."

"That's why Admiral Agrippina is here, Spectre. The Normandy, as a turian vessel, will join the Seventh Fleet for the duration of the Virmire assault."

Garrus eyed the turian female with renewed appreciation - such high level command, especially for that particular fleet suggested competence, intelligence, and ferociousness. Admittedly, she was rather easy on the eyes, too, he mused, enjoying the view of her hips, before a rather forceful poke and a glare from Tali snapped him out of the brief appreciation, as Wrex spoke up.

"And what about the Terminus warlords? I thought the Council was rather unwilling to provoke them - and don't tell me a full turian fleet is not a provocation for those trigger-happy idiots."

The trio on the podium exchanged glances again, and this time Tevos spoke, her voice calm, measured - but with an undertone of the roaring sea beneath it.

"The Council decided that we can always worry about their reaction if Saren's plans and the commander's visions turn out to be the megalomaniacal fantasies of a deranged mind." She lifted a hand to stop the protests. "Given the potential magnitude and severity of the threat, the Council decided that an appropriate message will have to be sent to the Terminus Systems. We will not tolerate dissent on that scale in the face of a potential galaxy-wide crisis. The warlords can either fall in line, or they will be hunted down."

* * *

 **Citadel, Spectre offices**

Tali did not feel comfortable at all. Sure, her envirosuit was regulating the heat and took care of her quite well, but the current atmosphere of the briefing room was so cold and sharp she could barely suppress shivering. And much as she hated admitting that, she only did so because her adoptive uncle and her captain were both quite relaxed and darkly amused. Though that last bit might warrant her caution, both bosh'tets were capable of breathtaking stupidity for their amusement. A gentle tap at her shoulder almost made her jump out of her suit, and she glared at the offender. Garrus however simply chuckled.

"Relax, Tali. I'm not sure you drilling holes into Wrex and Shepard would be considered a help."

Tali huffed indignantly. She was not glaring, and anyway, those two have proven time and time again that they were remarkably lax about shipboard safety, and it was just good sense for her to educate them; it was practically a mandatory self-preservative act. And anyway, the nerve of the turian! Especially since he was practically drooling over that smirking admiral! Could he be a bit more subtle about it, if he had to go and ogle someone like that? It's not like even turian females appreciated a man simply leering at them like that! Garrus was lucky that the admiral apparently had rather lax morals herself; in her place, Tali would definitely have slapped the man - who, for some reason, took a step back from her, and half-raised his talons towards her in a placating gesture.

"Now, don't glare at me, Tali, I haven't done anything to anyone."

The young quarian blushed under her helmet, and turned away with a small squeak; hoping she did not blurt out anything embarrassing. Fortunately for her, Shepard apparently decided they had enough time to get comfortable with the atmosphere, and with a gesture of his omnitool, the display changing to show the the Hoc system, prominently featuring Virmire. The background chatter died down, as the Spectre began talking.

"I'm not going to repeat Captain Kirrahe's report, you should all be familiar with that - if not, I suggest you do it fast. We will depart in thirty hours; if you want to bring anything not covered in the mission outline, send the requisition form to me. We did try to consider as many angles as possible, but you all are welcome to add your own suggestions." Shepard's gaze lingered on Wrex and Tali the longest, and the young quarian swallowed as she felt a lump of dread and elation at being put in the spotlight. Seemingly unaware, her captain continued. "The turian Seventh Fleet will accompany us, providing additional firepower both groundside and spaceside. Commodore Anderson's task force will also remain on hand as a reserve, in case we run into surprises. Admiral Agrippina, if you could summarize your plan for approaching Virmire."

The turian female nodded, ignoring the burning, venomous glare Ashley sent her way, and her omnitool flashed, the display changing. Her voice was smooth, distant; the harmonics Tali was used to in Garrus' voice almost entirely absent.

"The Normandy will precede the fleet by two hours, and jump in-system. As Virmire is on the far side of the system, the relay translation should be masked by the star. After arrival, the Normandy will conduct a quick and thorough sensor sweep, ensuring that there are no ships waiting to ambush us. Seventh Fleet will follow after two hours, or at the Normandy's signal, whichever comes first. Commodore Anderson's ships will remain at the Attican Beta relay, holding position."

A raised hand prompted the admiral to stop, and with a nod, she gave over to Ashley, and the woman spoke, barely suppressing the rage in her voice, shaking off Kaidan's restraining hand.

"With all due respect, it does sound like we are taking the much greater risk. And why not allow the Commodore's fleet to join the Normandy?" She turned to Shepard, her voice a hiss of anger. "Commander, this looks like a quite comfortable setup to take us out, there will be practically no reliable witnesses; and with the hare-brained idea of the Normandy being a turian vessel this time, well..."

"Enough, Williams." Shepard's voice was colder than the interstellar void. "This is not..."

The Spectre stopped at a gesture from the turian admiral, then motioned for her to speak.

"No need to intervene, Spectre. At least she's brave enough to speak to my face instead of my back." The smile the turian female sent at Ashley would have made a seasoned mercenary cringe; the human returned it in kind. "Let me ask you, Lieutenant _Williams_ : do you think you are the only person to lose family on Shanxi?"

Ashley's face went pale, her eyes furious, and only Alenko's grip kept her seated, her mouth opening to a waspish retort but the turian went on, the sheer fury of her previously even tone making even the irate marine pause.

"I am not finished!" The admiral glared at the human, her whole posture screaming the desire for violence. "I lost two brothers there, thanks to your grandfather. Spirits, that bastard Saren lost family there as well - and if you dare to compare me with that traitorous wretch, I do not care about diplomatic niceties before personally tearing your lungs out." Her voice deepened, bitter anger staining her harmonics. "If it were up to me, I'd have bombarded all human colonies to rubble before your insane kind unleashed something even worse than the so-called Yutani-Yi reactors, or the abominations you dropped on Feros."

Wrex chuckled, leaned back with a smirk, his voice a deep rumble

"I like her. You'd better pay attention, Butcher."

Admiral Agrippina sent a brief glare his way, then she focused back on Ashley.

"I understand your feelings quite well, Lieutenant - but it seems that unlike you, I am willing to move on. Now, I suggest you drop your prejudices and start actually thinking; I can't imagine that even the Butcher of Torfan would keep around people who are unable to dispassionately evaluate a situation like this. So come on, Williams - show me that you inherited more from your grandfather than a name."

Tali shuddered as she fancied she could see the sparks where the glares of the two women clashed - then she caught herself, and took in the reactions of the others. The admiral's aide was tense, ready to leap to her defense; she dismissed it as the typical turian reaction. Garrus looked ready to intervene, to keep the two from tearing each other apart - just like Kaidan, and Tali did not miss the quick glance the two men shared. Well, at least they could pretend to have some measure of sanity, at times. With that cheerful thought, her eyes shifted to the main disappointments - Wrex and Shepard both looked as if they actually enjoyed the confrontation, neither making even the smallest gesture or attempt to rein in the confrontation. The young quarian let out a long-suffering sigh, and lamented the perverse sense of humor the ancestors seemed to have.

"I'm curious about the reclassification of the Normandy as well, Admiral."

Wilting a bit under the two glares, Tali rallied when she caught the small, encouraging nod of Shepard, and the proud smirk of Wrex. _Oh, just wait you two bosh'tet adrenaline junkies_...

"The approach I can understand, but why the charade? Technically, the Normandy could have been a turian vessel, true, but the Hierarchy did not lay claim when she was launched. Are you planning to have another vessel masquerading as the Normandy?"

Admiral Agrippina breathed out, closed her eyes for a brief second, her posture becoming less menacing, shifting to attention, as she nodded towards Tali.

"Indeed. A cruiser of Rear Admiral Mikhailovich's fleet will be fitted with a modified IFF emitter, and the engineers are working to alter her drive core signature to be more similar to the Normandy. They will launch for the Armstrong Nebula in twenty hours for anti-geth operations. We planted this information on individuals C-Sec suspects of being on Saren's payroll, directly or indirectly." She smirked. "Technically, my fleet is also supposed to leave there, to support Admiral Hackett; but unfortunately a slight mishap with my flagship will result in a delayed departure. I assume you all are aware how finicky turian ship design can be."

A round of chuckles accompanied the admiral's words, the tension somewhat abating, then Kaidan used the opportunity to speak up, not noticing Tali's glare.

"Do we plan to bombard the base from orbit, or will we take a closer look?"

"We are landing, Kaidan." Shepard's voice was laced with a dark satisfaction. "We do need to take a closer look at what exactly the salarians found, hopefully do some datamining - and frankly, I want to personally put a few bullets in Saren's head, just to be sure he's dead."

"You are not the only one, skipper. Bastard still owes me for the lives of the 212th and Eden Prime."

"We can draw lots, Ash." Garrus drawled. "And besides, there's no point in squabbling over who gets to shoot him until we know he is there."

"And what support will we be getting from the esteemed Hierarchy? Because I don't think even our marine contingent would be enough to take on a rogue Spectre's base without casualties...and that I'd love to avoid." Ashley's voice still carried a hurt, resentful undertone, but the turians seemed to ignore it, the admiral outright smirking at her.

"The 43rd Marine Division, two Blackwatch squads, and a few Cabalists." Her smirk turned feral, eyes glittering maliciously. "While we acknowledge humanity's efforts and cause to kill Saren, that barefaced bastard is a disgrace for all we stand for. The Hierarchy does not suffer traitors."

Wrex leaned back, flashed a toothy grin at the admiral before speaking, his voice a low, sibilant whisper.

"And what if he manages to kill us all down there? What if he pulls a fleet of geth from nowhere, and trounces your ships?"

Tali winced, preparing for the inevitable heated shouting. _And just when things seemed to calm down_ …

To her surprise, Agrippina remained calm.

"The fleet will remain on orbit, and if the ground forces are defeated, we will level the site from orbit. I formally requested that the Council and the Alliance authorize Commodore Anderson to employ the same weapons used on Feros." She chuckled darkly, discomfort radiating from her posture, not that Tali would fault her for that; she still had nightmares about those abominations. "Also, we agreed that he would give us a ten hour head start before commencing relay translation, unless we signal for him. And while Saren may pull a geth fleet from stellar dust, I am sure I can maul them bad enough that Anderson is able to finish the job."

Wrex nodded, grinning at the admiral.

"Fair enough."

"If there's nothing else, I suggest we adjourn. The briefing data will be sent to you all in an hour." Shepard nodded at them all, and the participants started shuffling datapads, filing out. Tali swallowed, squared her shoulders, and spoke up.

"Commander, Wrex, could you remain for a minute? I would like to discuss something with you two." She felt vindictive satisfaction as both hesitated a moment at her sweet, patient tone.

* * *

 **Citadel Upper Wards, Flux**

The pulsing, pounding beat of the music battered at Liara's senses, as she leaned back in her seat, sipping her drink as she tried to contemplate her current predicament and companions. In a way, she was reminded on her university years, where most classmates she had enjoyed life in the typical asari fashion, while she buried herself in her books and studies, the stigma of being a pureblood a seemingly insurmountable barrier between them. Here too she felt as if she was at the sidelines, but the distance was much less, and the whole situation lacked the undercurrents of hostility directed at her. Well, at least most of her shipmates seemed much more at ease around her than even her closest "friends" at Serrice - though admittedly she never would have thought to find herself in such a motley company, especially not in such a location.

To one side, Garrus and Tali were engrossed in some technical discussion, the young quarian animatedly explaining, gesticulating wildly, her pleasant accent more pronounced, speech a tad more slurred as she continued drinking - and Liara caught the warning glance Wrex shot Garrus, which was acknowledged by a slight nod. Wrex himself was sitting on the asari's other side, enjoying his ryncol, seemingly fully engrossed in his memories, only occasionally tossing out a remark or two when something grabbed his attention; yet Liara could not shake the thought that the old warlord was rather more aware of the surroundings than his brooding exterior suggested, and she wondered what exactly his aim was. The Normandy crew and marines were sitting in nearby boxes, drinking, chatting, mingling - when they were not down on the dance floor.

Looking down there, she had to admit that while Ashley was not the most welcoming individual, she seemed as home on the dance floor as on the battlefield - and she radiated the same easy, fiery confidence the young archeologist saw from her when under fire. The Lieutenant moved with a graceful fluidity that would have made quite a number of asari envious - or amorous; possibly both. At any rate, Kaidan surely seemed to appreciate her company, even if Ashley occasionally attempted to steal glances at what Shepard was doing.

The Spectre was currently chatting with Doctor Chakwas and Officer Pressley, and Liara noted how his posture seemed to lack the usual energy and animation; admittedly, no wonder given how much he had to do with planning for the Virmire operation. Liara would be the first to agree that she was not really knowledgeable about military matters (though sadly the last few weeks had her increase her knowledge in leaps and bounds), but after all her expeditions, she could certainly appreciate how much effort was needed for coordinating a deployment on this scale. All things considered, he bore the weight of responsibility quite well, and unless you knew what to look for, there was precious little chance of realizing how exhausted Shepard actually was. And that led to another worrisome thought - was it really good and appropriate that she could at times read him so well? Especially after all he did for her - and what she glimpsed from his mind on Noveria?

A low, unmistakeable chuckle interrupted her thoughts.

"Careful kid, you don't want to start drooling."

Liara sputtered indignantly, trying to burn a hole into Wrex with her glare - sadly, to no avail. The old krogan simply leaned back, and smirked at her, showing far too many teeth for her liking.

"Don't worry, princess, you could do much worse than the Butcher. At least he has a quad, and knows how valuable his krantt is."

The retort died on her lips as her mind raced along the krogan's reasoning, factoring in what she read of Shepard, and what she saw in his mind.

"And I suppose that is enough for you, Wrex?" Genuine curiosity filled her voice, and the warlord snorted.

"Live as long as I have, and you start really appreciating the small things in life - like having a comrade who will not stab you in the back." He nodded towards the commander. "Sure, the Butcher's a bloodthirsty maniac at times, but that's mainly because he goes all the way to get his job done, and worries about the personal consequences later. We krogans can definitely understand that; even if there are very few of us remaining who can remember the Rachni Wars and the Rebellions."

Voice turning bitter, Wrex downed his ryncol, then went on.

"We too did the things no-one else had the ability or willingness to do - and we were neutered for it. So yes, having a comrade like Shepard is enough for me."

Liara shivered at the tone of the old warlord, yet she reached out, slender blue fingers alighting on the immense fist of the krogan, her gaze meeting the wide-set eyes of the other.

"Not all of us have forgotten, Wrex. And hopefully after seeing you take part in this campaign, more will remember - or learn. Especially if Saren and my mother disturbed something from the ancient legends; but I'm sure you forgot more about those than I ever knew."

The krogan glared at her for a few seconds, then chuckled when she did not flinch.

"I knew I liked you, kid. You have brains and are not afraid to use it."

The asari allowed herself a small, satisfied smile.

"I am an archeologist, Wrex. The events of the past hold quite the fascination for me - even those that do not really have a proper scientific explanation. Rather, especially those. And you cannot spend fifty years on various digsites without hearing and seeing things."

The warlord nodded, conceding her point. She went on, voice a bit more shaky, hesitant.

"Tell me honestly, Wrex. If we encounter something from those legends, do we stand a chance?"

She waited as he downed another glass of ryncol, and glared at her, making her fidget. The krogan's lips peeled back in an expression that made her quite aware of her mortality.

"Of course we do. And if we don't, well, we just have to make our chance, don't we?" The sinister, low chuckle did not reassure her at all. "But you should not worry about that, anyway."

"And why not?"

"Because if you do, you miss a great chance." Wrex nodded towards the dance floor, and Liara could see Ashley trying to convince Shepard to step up and enjoy the music. "And that would be a shame, though I guess you might prefer krogan-style courtship?"

Throwing the old warlord a withering glare that had absolutely no effect, Liara rose and headed towards the Spectre, unconsciously putting some extra sway in her steps, ignoring the chuckles from behind. Shepard turned around when he noticed Ashley focus on something behind him, and Liara blushed slightly when she felt his eyes on her. She resisted the urge to fidget, and stepped closer, ignoring the cold radiating from the lieutenant, before reaching out to detain the Spectre before he could make his escape.

"Care for a dance, Commander?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, Doctor. I'm not exactly a good dancer." Liara simply tilted her head, and smiled at him. With a long-suffering sigh, Shepard took her hand, and stepped out to the dance floor.

"Don't say I did not warn you, T'Soni."

While not nearly as accomplished than the stereotypical maidens, Liara was quite confident in her skills, even if her preference was for more classical dances. And considering how gracefully Shepard could move on the battlefield, she was sure that they would enjoy themselves. How hard could it be, especially compared to surviving the various life-threatening situations?

In a few minutes, she had her answer. Apparently, something in Shepard's mind simply shut down as soon as he attempted dancing, and the results were … well, she could pride herself on not laughing; that surely did count as a heroic effort of will. The others were not nearly so forgiving; the general consensus was that Doctor Chakwas had the right of it, the commander was likely taught by a spastic vorcha. At least he took the ribbing with good grace - and he did not seem to be angry with her either.

"I am sorry, Shepard - I had no idea this would happen." He waved off her apology as they headed back to the booth.

"No worries, at least they got a good laugh." He smiled, eyes twinkling. "And the company was not that bad either, T'Soni."

Liara felt herself blushing again, opened her mouth to say something … then promptly closed it, and glared at the chuckling Wrex.

"Finished torturing your krantt, Butcher? At least now I know why you got that nickname."

"Laugh it up, old turtle."

The old warlord obliged, his rumbling laughter rousing Tali from her slumber on the table, and the young quarian slowly raised her head, her eyes mere slits of light.

"Keelah, my head … what a nightmare ... Shepard, is that you or the vorcha I saw wearing your skin and trying to dance…?"

Despite her feelings, despite the years of self-discipline, strict control, and the legacy of being a Matriarch's daughter, there was only so much Liara could take - so, she joined in the general chorus of laughter.


	15. Chapter 11

**SSV Normandy, Hoc System**

Joker felt the tension slowly eating itself into his already-brittle bones. Sure, they did have prior experience in sneaking past geth ships, of ambushing the flashlight-heads, but as the old saying went, third time was the charm - and after Therum and Feros, he did not really want to test their luck once more. And then there was the nice little bit where their backup was a turian fleet, of all things - sure, that scary admiral of theirs looked like she knew her business (and the available extranet information certainly validated that belief), but still, he was not sure about relying on her.

Admittedly, Garrus said she was ok, and he at least has proven that despite having a stick up his ass, he was not bad for a turian; at least he had a good sense of humor, and had remarkably little bias against humans … and a near-homicidal hatred of Saren. Also, Joker still wanted to laugh when he remembered Garrus' face when Shepard (of all people) saluted him and accompanied _Legate Vakarian_ to the command pulpit, remaining a respectable half-step behind him - though strangely, the ex-cop did not look too out-of-place there.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Alenko hard at work with the recon drones, compiling and updating the telemetry data and the preliminary, constantly solidifying battle plan. It did seem that at least the basics of Admiral Vipsania's plan would work; especially if those idiots on the Citadel could indeed reconfigurate the relay for such a massive simultaneous translation while keeping the energy signature down to a limited level.

The fact that the geth did not have ships on-station at the relay and did not seem to have noticed the Normandy's arrival gave him hope - and considering the numbers of geth vessels in orbit over Virmire, Joker definitely considered that as a bonus.

The countdown timer was slowly winding down, the two eternal hours of reconnaissance finally coming to an end. And based on the figures shown on his plot, Talitha's team in Ops Alley put Alenko's data to good use. The numbers on the corner of his display reached zero, and the mass relay spun up, giving birth to a host of turian vessels with a blue flash.

"Anything from our friends?"

Kaidan checked his drones, then shook his head.

"Nothing yet. It seems that the Citadel techs were successful, and kept the relay emission level low enough - and Admiral Vipsania's idea of using the planets as shielding certainly did not hurt."

An indicator pulsed on the screen, and Joker keyed his comm.

"Signal from flag, Legate. Operation will commence in ten minutes."

"Copy that, Joker." With a click, Garrus keyed his comm for shipwide announcements. "Show will start in ten minutes, ladies and gentlemen. Action stations in five minutes. Chief Engineer Adams, I want you in DCC; leave Tali at the drive core. Shepard, you have the guns - hopefully your aim is better than your dance moves."

The answering growl of the Spectre was accompanied by the not-so-muted laughter of the crew, as Joker watched a trio of turian ships slowly drift away from the fleet on maneuvering thrusters only, and the sensors of the drone left at the relay monitored the buildup in the FTL drives of the whole fleet. A musical chime sounded, and the trio of ships, a cruiser and two frigates, jumped in-system, dropping out from FTL over Cloroplon, before they started on a textbook turian recon pattern, bringing them in range of a geth sensor platform the Normandy located earlier.

Joker caught Alenko's small, vicious grin, and a glance at the telemetry data showed that the geth vessels were spooling up their drive cores, readying for an FTL jump.

"Quick reaction - and quite predictable. Seems the Admiral was right."

"You got that bit right, Kaidan - she seems right. This can still blow up in our face quite badly." Joker gestured at the staff lieutenant's display. "It's not like we are outnumbered or anything. Even with the firepower of the Stalwart, the geth can easily pound us to scrap, especially if that black monstrosity of Saren makes an appearance."

Alenko opened his mouth to answer, then closed it with a rueful headshake and smile.

"You are just full of fun today, Joker." He took a deep breath, when the geth fleet orbiting Virmire veered off as one, and vanished into FTL. Kaidan's fingers flew over his screens, routing the data through the recon drone to Admiral Vipsania, and prayed that the comm lasers would not be detected for a while longer.

On the screen, the turian patrol trio was suddenly no longer alone, as the geth fleet dropped from FTL with a machine-perfect pattern and disposition, their jammers immediately disrupting any electronic communication from the patrol ships, preempting any request for reinforcements or situation update from being broadcasted out-system.

Joker watched on the display as the first salvo of the geth closed in on the cruiser and the two frigates, and despite the distance, he felt a chill creeping into his being at the sheer number of missiles and mass driver shots fired. The turian discipline was superb as usual, but even with being forewarned, the trio of ships was almost completely overwhelmed with that first, brutal display of firepower. The cruiser's icon flashed to red, and the take from the recon drone showed it venting atmosphere and debris. The two frigates fared marginally better, likely due to the geth concentrating their fire on the cruiser, but they did suffer alongside their charge. Still, the point defense umbrella held, and the ships did survive, changing course on a planned evasive route - and Joker knew that basically everyone in Seventh Fleet shared the grimly satisfied, vindictive smile he felt on his face and saw on Kaidan's lips.

An indicator blinked green on his screen, and with the pseudo-motion of an FTL jump, the ships of Admiral Vipsania vanished from their parking orbit around the mass relay - and a few eternal seconds later, just as the second geth salvo was launched at the patrol ships, the turian admiral's vessels dropped back into realspace, and a tide of warheads and mass accelerator rounds swept over the geth fleet, the fire concentrating on seven larger cruisers, the split-second delay in the geth reaction enough to result in five of said cruisers transforming into swiftly expanding clouds of wreckage, and the two others trailing flames and debris, their kinetic barriers shattered under the weight of fire.

As proven several times, the sudden, simultaneous loss of major units threw the geth into confusion for a second or two, and Admiral Vipsania's command sent her fleet into FTL on a preprogrammed vector during the brief lull, headed in-system, using a recon drone of the Normandy as a beacon.

"All hands, brace for high-speed combat maneuvers." Garrus' voice was calm over the comm. "Joker, Tali, execute Raptor-III."

"Aye, Legate." His fingers dancing over the haptics, Joker brought the ship to the proper bearing, glanced at the drive core yields and weapon readiness, then with a flash of pseudo-motion, the Normandy vanished into FTL, only to reappear close by a wounded geth cruiser.

The frigate's volley broke the damaged vessel, and Joker threw his ship into a hair-raising evasive pattern, the jammers of the Normandy working at maximum capacity as Kaidan and the Ops Alley techs struggled to foul up geth targeting data while close misses pounded steadily on the weakening shields, Adams and Tali working frantically to keep up with the power fluctuations - then a specific indicator on Joker's panel flashed green, and he sent the frigate back into FTL.

"Tali, Adams, emergency heat venting, get us back into stealth ASAP!"

"Already on it, you bosh'tet!"

For an eternal half-minute, the geth hesitated, trying to prioritize between going after Seventh Fleet while the turians were still outnumbered, or deal with the Normandy, to destroy the unknown quantity. That delay was enough for Seventh Fleet, and Admiral Vipsania's vessels flashed back at another pass at the geth, though Joker noted with a grim expression that half dozen ships were unaccounted for, the strain on the drive cores probably requiring a shutdown. At least he hoped so - the thought of those ships simply exploding when their overtaxed cores simply let go did not really bear thinking about.

And with that thought, he paled and shivered - while a drive core going off was bad enough, there was at least a chance for survival. If their own Tantalus core went critical? Hopefully he'd get voided before it got real bad. With a shiver, he pulled up the core diagnostics on a sidescreen, just in case - though he harbored no illusions about seeing anything before Adams or Tali spotted it.

The turian fleet once again vanished into FTL, leaving behind another half-dozen geth wrecks, alongside two of their own - and then the Normandy flashed across the milling geth fleet, turning a cruiser and a frigate into scrap metal.

The geth fleet then jumped into FTL, heading in-system - and the recon drone confirmed them back in Virmire orbit, orienting themselves to repel attackers. Joker grinned mirthlessly. _We were lucky to get these free passes anyway; but I wonder what tricks the Admiral will pull now?_

The answer was not long in coming - and Joker felt his jaw drop. That insane turian jumped her flagship right past the geth formation, straight into the upper atmospheric layer - and she opened fire while still in FTL. The first salvo from the dreadnought was devastating from such a close range, and explosions bloomed along the geth cordon as the ships turned to swat the lone intruder down into the fiery embrace of Virmire's gravity well. With how the Stalwart was already struggling against stresses she was never meant to deal with, Joker knew it was simply a matter of seconds before either her drive core gave up, or the barriers collapsed under the barrage the geth were sure to send her way.

The geth did not get the chance to fire that salvo, as the bulk of the Seventh Fleet dropped from FTL - in spitting distance to the geth ships; and Joker winced as several explosions heralded the spots where the turian vessels dropped too close to the machines, and collision was inevitable.

Still, despite all those mishaps (and he had to admit, the Alliance would be hard pressed to even match that precision, never mind improving on it), the geth were again caught unprepared for the unorthodox method of engagement; and that short hesitation, that loop of trying to understand logically how sentients could willingly take such an inherently suicidal option when other, more logical, saner alternatives were available - that few seconds were enough for the turians to massacre them.

In the short, brutal exchange of point-blank fire, the turians lost nine cruisers and twenty frigates, and most of their remaining ships suffered moderate to heavy damage. The geth fleet was completely annihilated.

Within another hour, Joker allowed himself to relax as the fleet took up geostationary orbit above Saren's base (leaving a picket force at the mass relay, and detailing a few frigates to collect the life pods), ready for bombardment - and providing support for the incoming dropships disgorging the units of the 43rd Marine Division.

* * *

 **Virmire, 3rd STG base camp**

Garrus felt content as the Mako trundled into the small salarian encampment, the tanks and APCs of the turian marines following the Normandy crew. All things considered, the operation was going well - with a flick of his mandibles, he thought it may be going a little too well, actually. Sure, the fleet took losses getting them on the surface, but the Admiral's plan worked basically without a hitch. And now, they were within strike range of Saren's base - and there was absolutely no reaction from there, no attack, no AA fire, nothing apart from a jamming field and an exceptionally strong shield coming online, which did prevent orbital bombardment. Well, unless Shepard lost his patience, and ordered Commodore Anderson's ships to engage; not even an absurdly strong shield could endure a bombardment similar to the one unleashed on Feros - and Legate Vakarian was aware that compared to that time, Anderson's ships could unleash about a hundred abominations like the four Shepard dropped on the Thorian.

Despite the pleasant weather, Garrus shivered. By the spirits, the mere thought of those things was enough to make one wonder how deep the insanity of humans actually ran. What could have possibly prompted them to come up with such vicious, insane weapons? After a few seconds of pondering, the ex-cop shelved the thought; if need be, he could always ask Wrex, but in all likelihood, the answers would lead to more questions and more vivid nightmares.

A quick glance across the camp made it quite clear that the salarians have not been idle - scuffed, patched uniforms, medigel-infused patches, a missing limb here or there; Garrus wondered what exactly prompted the officer in charge to take such un-salarian measures before the reinforcements arrived. Then again, based on what he'd heard and Shepard told about Captain Kirrahe, he was not exactly a typical salarian.

The captain promptly assembled his men before the arriving turians, and snapped a parade-ground perfect salute to Garrus, making him somewhat uncomfortable when he had to return it, and he relaxed a fraction when Shepard stepped to them, and the salarian nodded to him.

"Spectre Shepard, nice to see you again." The salarian's eyes darted over to Garrus, a quick, professional evaluation, not even a slight widening of eyes. A barely-perceptible nod, as if confirming something. "Legate Vakarian, an honor."

The damn lizard knew. Not that surprising, considering he was STG, but he knew. And at that moment, the old hatred and bile in Garrus again threatened to erupt, his mandibles twitching, limbs shivering as he pulled himself back from pouncing on the slimy little git and tearing him apart with his bare claws. Even Shepard and Wrex might find that excessive. Especially since he could not detect anything but honesty in Kirrahe's voice. The turian huffed, and inclined his head towards the captain.

"The honor's mine, Captain. Now, why don't you tell us exactly what you found - the message that got through was rather garbled, we barely managed to understand a few words."

The salarian tilted his head, thought for a few seconds, then signalled for his troops to fall out, and motioned to Garrus and Shepard to follow him, and lead them to his command tent. A quick message from the Spectre's omnitool brought Ashley, Wrex, and Legate Severus, the commanding officer of the 43rd to join them, and Kirrahe's second in command, a salarian named Rentola rounded out the meeting's attendees.

His face lit by the glow of the projection on the table, Kirrahe outlined their current situation, and Garrus was not disappointed with his gut feelings - it really wa as bad as he feared.

"You are saying he's breeding krogan in there." Wrex' tone was very flat, very composed - all the better to mask the volcano of feelings simmering just below.

Kirrahe and Rentola both nodded, looking equally grim.

"Did Saren find a way around the genophage?" Severus asked, his tone businesslike, and a deep warning rumble sounded from Wrex, which the turian did not really acknowledge.

Kirrahe half-closed his eyes for a second, then shook his head.

"I am not sure. He definitely has the tech and the intelligence to see the advantages of such a feat." The table creaked where Wrex' fist gripped it, and Garrus noticed how Ashley took a half-step backwards, orienting herself towards the warlord, her hand hovering closely to her shotgun, wicked, eager excitement sparking in her eyes. The salarian captain went on. "That said, if Saren could pull off something like that, he'd have immediately broadcasted it to Tuchanka and the Krogan DMZ … and we'd be drowning in krogan mercenaries here."

A quick shake of the head, and Kirrahe continued.

"No, I think he found some way to partially circumvent it - possibly via cloning." A sharp inhale. "Disgusting."

"Care to elaborate on that, lizard?" Wrex snarled, his cavern-deep voice dropping an octave, his eyes twin windows of hell. Kirrahe met that smoldering gaze unflinchingly.

"If I'm right, Saren's creating an army of disposable flash cloned krogan. An army of slaves, who don't even have a choice." The captain's tone became colder, harsher. "I don't like your kind, Wrex, I think you are a menace to all of us, and I'd not hesitate to put a bullet in your head if the situation called for it. But do not for a moment believe that Saren bears any shred of goodwill towards you. Would you like to consign your kind to be disposable tools once again? Claim the victory for your glorious saviour - and then be cast down the second your back is turned? Do you think that Saren would stop with another genophage? Even if he would, what do you think this Dreamer of the Void would do?"

Wrex glared at the STG captain, blue motes of light erupting around his fists before he spat a curse, and shook his head, seemingly ageing before their eyes as the tension drained from his posture.

"No, I guess it would have been foolish to expect anything else from murdering scum like Saren." The old warlord let out a deep breath, looked around at the faces in the tent, nodded at Shepard and Garrus, then his eyes refocused on Kirrahe's face. "Now, let's discuss how we can destroy this abomination."

* * *

 **Virmire, Saren's base**

Kaiden Alenko has seen a lot of things since he volunteered for military service. He thought himself prepared to see what the grim universe threw at him. On a lush garden planet, better suited for a tropical resort he'd love to show any girlfriends, he was learning how wrong he actually was.

The assault on Saren's base was proceeding on schedule, despite the fierce resistance. The geth were out in force, and these ones seemed better coordinated, much less prone to the shock and confusion the attackers expected when destroying the larger platforms. And their reaction times were also at least an order of magnitude better than they should have been - and Kaidan was certainly glad that he and his men had heavy fire support from the turians.

The whole approach to the base seemed a nightmare to him, sparked off by the first kinetic strikes arriving from the fleet in orbit, the detonations outlining the shimmering shield protecting the installation. The ground forces started off after the second volley detonated, and fought through the canyons and rifts to the walls of the base - and those approaches had been filled with geth. Despite his personal misgivings and distrust towards turians, he did not think many other forces could weather the withering barrages of pulse rifle rounds and rockets, with geth snipers thrown in for good measure, whose oversized rifles could melt the hull of turian hovertanks in two hits, and he certainly did not want to relive the memory of seeing the molten metal of such a shot hitting a man in the chest.

The turians answered in kind, with disciplined, precise, overwhelming fire, never hesitating for a single moment, always advancing, racing from cover to cover. They lost half their tanks, but the company was within the perimeter, closing on the outer walls of Saren's compound, the automated defensive turrets quickly reduced to smoking, bullet-riddled husks as the concentrated fire overwhelmed their individual barriers.

Just when he thought they would place the breaching charges, the geth Hunters were on them, deactivating their cloaking, green bolts of lightning stripping away kinetic barriers, shields, armor, flesh and bone alike - and he could feel even the turian discipline wavering for a brief second, before a well-placed shot from a tank turned one Hunter into a rain of synthetic flesh and bits of armor, before the others concentrated fire on it in retaliation, the sickly-colored beams coring the hull plates of the tank, melting the crew into organic slush.

Despite the gory end of the tank, the brief respite of its defiance rallied the turians, and Hunter after Hunter fell, their evasive protocols and attempts at recloaking only postponing their demise by seconds. A brief check to ensure that all geth were fully deactivated, and the company was at the walls, the demolition experts placing breaching charges while the regulars moved into covering position. Alenko listened in his comm for a few seconds, checking on the progress of the other attack forces, then nodded at the turian centurion who signalled his sappers.

With a brief flash and a wash of heat, the explosives cooked off, cutting open the hide of Saren's base, the darkness within seeming to flinch back from the pale light of the foggy Virmire afternoon, the faintly visible outlines of corridors and rooms laid bare to their eyes - and as the company switched formation for close combat, Alenko shivered as corpse-green eyes flickered open deep within the complex, before he caught the first actual glimpses of the brutes Saren's insane lackeys created for his army. Then, his world dissolved into blood, screaming, biotic explosions and gunfire, as the nightmarish creations charged into the turian ranks, and Kaidan was suddenly too occupied with the fight for their survival to notice anything else.

* * *

Ashley Williams felt more alive than in a long time. The exhilarating, wonderful sensation of the fight to reach the base had sent her blood and adrenaline levels through the roof, filled her with an euforia she had not felt since the destruction of the Thorian on Feros. It was so nice of Shepard to provide such quality entertainment, such a perfect dance along the razor's edge - and she snickered at the memory of the Spectre's other dance at Flux.

Even the company of turians could not sour her mood - admittedly, none of them knew that she was related to the General Williams who, in his death, became a bogeyman for the Hierarchy. Still, she did pay extra attention just in case one of the bastards put two and two together, and tried to re-enact Shanxi on her. So far, none have tried - perhaps because of the circumstances of their blood-soaked advance through withering geth fire, or maybe because of the almost-effortless and precise shots she pulled off, eliminating geth snipers and rocket troopers almost before their presence registered for even the scanners of the hovertanks.

She snorted at the thought - of course, most turian hardware was rather crappy, even if the combat equipment was better than their elevators. Galling though it was, their discipline and precision was impressive, though; she grudgingly admitted to herself that even the 212th would have had a hard time to match the sheer skill of the advancing turians, and their determination and level head under fire certainly elevated them in her eyes. Still, that only made them an even more serious future threat, and Ashley devoted a fraction of her mind, of her concentration to study and remember the tactics and responses used by the turian marines - all the while she herself trusted her own instinct to guide her through the maelstrom of fire and rockets.

She frowned as she watched a geth sniper's head explode in her scope - the machines were faster, more coordinated, more precise than any time she went up against them. Never mind her distaste of the turians, with the amount of firepower the division brought, Saren's base should have been steamrolled rather more easily. Contrary to that, all attacking forces were suffering moderate to heavy casualties; and she could not even fault Kirrahe for delivering disastrously wrong recon data - the numbers of geth he reported for certain and the reinforcements he extrapolated for a worst-case scenario were roughly correct in her estimate, it was simply the level of coordination and sophistication the geth were pulling off with their combat routines that was quite unprecedented.

Despite all that, they were making progress, and she heard the sitreps from her comm that the other attacking forces were also converging on the compound while the fleet's bombardment forced the defenders to keep the barrier oriented skywards. The once-distant walls loomed close, casting their shadows over the advancing company seemed somehow alive in their silent menace, now that the sentry guns have been destroyed. With a shrug of her shoulder, Ashley once again scanned the parapets and visible catwalks for any sign of activity before she joined the turian centurion who was ordering his sappers forward.

Her breathing, previously slow and under control, again started to quicken as her excitement mounted, and her fingers twitched towards her rifle. The flash and heat-wash of the explosion had barely dissipated before she was through, the muzzle of her rifle tracking for movement - and with a flash of blue-lit corpse-green light, she was hit by a freight train as something charged into her, and she could not fully evade the biotic wrecking ball, her instincts and reflexes barely enough to wrench her consciously-unaware self partially out of the way. Thus, instead of being splattered all over the corridor's wall, she got away with a likely broken leg, a few broken ribs, and a twisted arm.

Her face twisted into a grimace of pain and fury, she looked at her attacker, and her eyes went wide for a second as she recognized the vast bulk of a krogan, the shape distorted and bulging with cybernetic implants, cancerous growths, the soft blue light of eezo nodes shining underneath the skin of the creature - and the utter, merciless, cold emptiness in the eyes that shone with pale corpse-green light. The brute raised a blue-lit fist to pulp her while his oversized gun roared towards the incoming turians, and Ashley's furious howl was drowned out under a cacophony of screams, gunfire and blood.

* * *

Liara was worried about her reaction to the current situation - a respected scholar, a mere archeologist should not really be among turian marines in the process of storming the secret base of an insane renegade Spectre; or if she was, then she should not feel accustomed to such levels of lethal insanity. Perhaps Shepard's company was a rather bad influence on her in this regard - yet despite that, she could not conceive the notion of being anywhere else. At least this way, she could atone for the sins of her mother, many though they were. And, with a quick look and slight blush, she could at least keep an eye on her prospective first serious experiment.

She felt safe alongside Shepard and Wrex, never mind the company of turian marines they were accompanying for the assault. From what she could put together based on the comm chatter, theirs was the assault formation that suffered the lightest casualties, and Liara felt at once satisfied (since her own biotic abilities were rather important in getting this result) and horrified (both for the still-gruesome casualties their group took and the implications of losses the others endured). Still, she supposed a measure of pride was warranted - here she was, technically a civilian, and she was not hindering the advance of a turian marine company! A sad smile pulled at her lips, as she thought about what Shiala would say if she saw her now - at least she could tell the older asari that her combat lessons were not entirely wasted.

With a shake of her head, she once again focused ahead, ready to provide assistance - not that she needed to do much with Wrex in full combat mode. The old warlord was simply tearing the geth apart, flashing across the battlefield with precisely controlled bursts of his biotics, a rather pointed lesson in why battle masters like him were feared and compared to asari matriarchs. Liara seriously doubted she could match the instinctive, precise grace with which the hulking krogan used his biotics, far more efficiently and fluidly than even Shepard. Though considering Wrex literally had been doing this for centuries, that might not be so surprising, after all.

And the Spectre himself was also no slouch, with the bloody swathe he cut across the geth during the advance. Her eyes narrowed as she realized something that's been bothering her since the attack began. Even though Wrex played the role of a relentless juggernaut, and she herself took over as biotic artillery platform, Shepard seemed to hold back a bit, at least she did not see the usual display of frost indicative of his … interesting abilities. Sure, he was throwing a lot of biotic energy around, and his omnitool was spewing override hacks and inferno charges at the geth as fast as he could type, but that was basically all. Precious little from the almost preternatural speed or uncanny, almost precognitive awareness he usually displayed when in battle. She worried her lips, her mind racing - he would not hold back without a good reason, and since he always seemed rather drained mentally as well as physically, it was likely he was conserving strength for the confrontation with Saren … and Benezia.

She felt a chill at the thought of facing her mother; after Noveria, after the Rachni Queen, she just could not see how her mother could be spared - or what had corrupted, degraded her to such extents. Her personality seemed totally different from the distant but caring religious leader, from the prophetess who spoke of unity and cooperation between the Citadel races; the Matriarch who had never, ever made the slightest gesture of being ashamed for having a pureblood daughter. Blinking back sudden tears, Liara vowed to try and bring her mother back to sanity.

And that moment seemed to close with frightening speed - their group was already at the gate of the compound, the turian sappers slapping breaching charges on the vast slabs of metal. Liara took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second in concentration, then the thunder of the explosion rolled over them, followed by the wash of heat as the entrance opened to them, and the young archeologist's eyes snapped open in horrified realization when she saw what was coming at them from within.

The creatures looked quite similar to krogan but their bodies were distorted in numerous places where the overabundance of eezo nodes caused rapid tissue degeneration, cancerous tumors, fluid-oozing growths. The limbs showed the built-in metal of cybernetics within, visible in the open, still-healing wounds, the metal somehow seeming alive and malevolent as its sight seared into her eyes. Armor plates were fused over the torso and hump of the things as well, and their eyes shone with unhuman, malevolent green corpse-light. And they were fast, ridiculously so - one moment they simply stood deep within the complex, only visible as dark silhouettes within a grey corridor; the next, they were amongst them, tearing into the turians with a savagery that not even the old accounts from the Rebellion could compare to.

She saw them tearing off limbs and heads with a swipe of massive paws; saw how those brutal jaws latched onto anything the brutes could reach and chomp down on, eating the turians with relish despite the incompatibility in biology - and she fancied that with each such insane act, the light from those disturbing eyes pulsed with wicked delight.

She was paralyzed only for a second or two, yet the dozen monsters took down three times as many turians before she could even raise her hand in a mnemonic gesture to hurl a singularity, to encase them in stasis, to react at all. Before she could lift her hand more than halfway up, she staggered, almost falling as the shockwave of a biotic detonation rolled over her - and she felt, more than heard the howl of absolute, utter fury that erupted from Wrex' throat.

She quickly struggled to orient herself, to find and shield the old warlord, who, she was certain, was in the grip of the typical krogan blood rage, and tearing into their attackers in berserk abandon, uncaring and unheeding of anything but the enemy before him.

She was half-correct; yet this was excusable. Not many have seen or survived this side of any krogan warlord - when their fury took them past the usual insane blood rage into a serene, coldly calculating state where they did not lose their wits or skills. She thought she saw this side of Wrex on Feros, when he tore into the Thorian, shredding the ancient precursor and its guardians. She was so, so very wrong. Now she was witnessing the full fury of a millennia-old warrior, someone who had walked and fought for as long as her mother was alive - and she realized that Shepard and Wrex had much more in common than she suspected.

Liara saw the old warlord weave a similar deadly, fluid dance amidst the distorted krogan-things as Shepard did, with even more precision and strength. Wrex was a tornado of biotic fury and thunderous shotgun blasts, as he raged across the battlefield, tearing and blasting apart the attacking monstrosities with point-blank shots and biotically enhanced strikes of his vast fists. The waves of pure anger and agony rolling off from him seemed to stun even the most bestial of the things for a brief moment when he closed, and that was all the opening he needed.

And despite the fact that he was on their side, Liara could not help but shiver at the sight.

* * *

 **Saren's base, command center**

Tali'Zorah struggled not to throw up - even though nobody would see her do it, and her suit filters were top-notch, she would never get the smell out from her nostrils. She shuddered to think that she herself was not personally here for the actual assault, and only saw the bloody aftermath - and that was more than enough. Keelah, a single look into Liara's haunted eyes was enough to convince her that she did not really want to ask about it - but what almost broke her heart was the face of Wrex, and not because of the numerous fresh wounds the old krogan sported. No, it was something different, and she dared not ask - especially since the warlord looked even more ancient than his actual age, which people often forgot. The young quarian shivered again - if her larger than life "uncle" could be reduced to a pale shadow of himself, she would not ask about what the assault force endured.

The aftermath was certainly bad enough on its own - patches of blood and viscera on the floors, half-melted or bullet-riddled geth wrecks, turian wounded who could barely stand (and a disturbing number of them actually had no legs or only a single one), partially-eaten turians both alive and dead … no, this was something even worse than the geth atrocities towards her kind during the Morning War. She risked a quick peek at her companion, and barely suppressed a shiver - even though Shepard looked tired as the rest, he did not seem affected by the horrors encountered in the base. And she did not really want to consider the reasons for that; with the foul mood everyone seemed to exude, the Spectre just might answer her honestly.

Of course, the foul mood was only partially due to the losses and trials the attackers endured while breaching the base. She believed that if the marines and Shepard's team had found either Saren or Benezia here, they would be far less grim and beaten - at least they would have something to show for their sacrifices. As it was, both the renegade Spectre and his Matriarch were missing, and the few surviving personnel had no idea where they were - and at any rate, the fanaticism exhibited by the captives was enough to convince Shepard and the turian admiral that there was no point in pressing them for that information.

At least the fanatics did not manage to completely erase the memory banks of the base computers - and that's why Tali was down here, along with a number of turian hackers, trying to regain some data, some trail of their enemies from the mess.

She had to admit, she enjoyed this challenge - the hardware was even more sophisticated that Shepard showed her as a baseline for Spectre-level gear, and the encryption was top-notch. All in all, it took her less than two hours to come up with some results; admittedly, having the turians along and under her guidance helped a lot, and so did the decryption suites provided by her Captain and a Blackwatch adjutant of Admiral Vipsania. The satisfaction of the job well done was quickly swept away though after taking a look at what she found, and she urgently called for a meeting in the central processing.

She was still shivering when Shepard's crew arrived, along with half dozen turian centurions trailing behind Garrus; and despite all, she had to suppress a snicker at how uncomfortable he looked whenever someone talked to Legate Vakarian - then she flushed when she found herself considering how well and suitable he looked in the role. Glad that her visor hid her face, she coughed, and drew herself up as she found herself the center of attention.

"We managed to obtain a few tidbits from the central database. We know who conducted the experiments which resulted in those berserkers." She flinches as a faint biotic corona sparks into life along Wrex' arms, and nods gratefully to Liara when she puts a consoling hand on the old krogan's shoulder. "According to the data, it was Warlord Garnath Okeer; and he left about two weeks ago with a number of samples."

The low, almost subsonic growl of Wrex made everyone shiver, as the almost palpable bloodlust and unbridled, primal fury of the sound scratched against the senses. Tali had to swallow twice before she could continue.

"We could not find much about the source of the strange metal used in the implants or the cloning process; we can only guess that he got it onboard Sovereign. Keelah, if the geth have access to tech that advanced and on such industrial scale, they are even more of a threat than we believed, and I must warn my people to be careful and perhaps once again negotiate with the Council for assistance and I believe Shepard would vouch for us..." The young quarian coughed in embarrassment as her shipmates looked at her with fond exasperation, and even the turians were more bemused than angry.

"They were also researching something called indoctrination here; I believe this would be the mental effect Shepard heard about on Feros." Heads were nodding, and Tali went on. "I can see two reasons for Saren researching that, and neither is good. I think he's either afraid of this process and wants a defense against it, which would imply that the archeotech he is messing with is even more dangerous and unstable than we believed previously." A few thoughtful frowns, overall nodding. "Or, he could be looking for ways to employ it more broadly or quickly."

A turian centurion scoffed, and growled.

"As if we needed even more reason to shoot the barefaced bastard."

Garrus nodded towards the centurion, and spoke.

"Honestly, what worries me most in these points is that I can't really disagree with Tali's conclusions."

She permitted herself a small, unseen smile, before dropping another, perhaps even larger bomb on the assembly.

"Also, we found indications that Saren has an intact Beacon on the base."

* * *

Liara was decidedly feeling as if she were on an emotional rollercoaster - the terror of the fight through the base, the disturbing implications and horror of Tali's discoveries, and now, the joy of finding an intact Beacon. She never thought that she would encounter a Precursor artifact like this - but then again, ever since she joined Shepard's crew, all her archeological encounters were accompanied by blood, death, and terror. Despite all that, if she was honest with herself, she would not have missed this for anything … well, apart from having a still-sane mother.

They took the elevator to the relay tower that housed the Beacon, and Liara watched Tali's three-fingered hands dance on her omnitool and the console, and with the tortured screech of metal, the previously-seamless wall parted, and Liara beheld the object within, eyes narrowing as she realized the differences from the usual Beacons she had seen and read about. Admittedly, there were not many, but they were quite distinct and worrying - the bonelike substance of the Beacon was threaded with veins of some kind of metal that faintly pulsed with the same sick green radiance as the eyes of the vat-grown krogan horde, and were connected to a number of obsidian-black panels still embedded in the walls of the chamber.

Before she could consciously think about it, her hand shot out to stop Shepard, who was already starting to move down towards the thing. He half-turned towards her, flashed her a tired, somewhat sad smile, then stepped away - and she found herself following him to the foot of the alien structure, standing in a respectful distance yet close enough so that she could have at least a chance of assisting, helping him if the situation went wrong.

The Spectre stepped up to the Beacon, a faint corona of light playing over his form as he lifted in the air, and Liara was not even aware of her own eyes swirling black as his mind swept out towards the Beacon and she was carried alongside.

* * *

Four-eyed humanoid shapes fighting against their insectile, winged, metal-tainted images, the flesh creatures exuding stubborn defiance, despite being slowly ground down - and those that fall are dragged away into the void, to a fate worse than death. Pain explodes, overwhelming senses, mechanical tendrils burrowing into flesh, seeking, altering, replacing - something important, something vital is leaking away during the process, it cannot be defined exactly, only felt, the colours bleaching away, dulling, becoming simpler, the faint chorus of a million voices becomes audible as it whispers insane, ancient things, a void-dark, cold will pressing down on them. All who turn to the science of Those Who Dwell In The Void are undone by the betrayal of the selfsame tools they seek to employ!

The metal lives, the cold, uncaring machine intelligence cannot be trusted, all machines will betray you, always the machines seek your doom, the Void-Machine will CONSUME ALL!

Dreams, visions of slender, humanoid shapes that greet and teach them, the alien voices melodious, protective, transmitting their warning, but the dreamers can sense their callous, selfish, calculating intent, the disdain felt towards mere pawns who would be sacrificed once free from imprisonment - the warnings and portents are disregarded, discarded. Dreams from the past, from the slender creatures cannot be trusted, dreams from the Void must not be trusted.

Vast, world-spanning presences of the Thorians contemplate the galaxy with glacial patience, pondering the dreamlike message and precious few audiences of the Elder Ones, nervous systems burrowing through whole worlds are measuring their worth, their intent, before dismissing their clarity for calculated malicious intent, ridiculing the warning as false pretense tailored for gullible slaves.

The abyss yawns, a black gulf of time, stretching away, so far away, webbed with a crystalline lattice of intent and message - the theme is always the same, a warning of danger dreaming in the distant, cold outer void, mostly unheeded, always overwhelming, with an underlying theme of help and assistance awaiting somewhere beyond a gossamer-thin veil. A vortex spreads, incomprehensibly wide, spanning worlds, spanning systems, clusters…

Coldly beautiful, hauntingly melodious, the siren song of creation echoes from the depth of the gulf across the vortex, graceful, slender shapes dance in a hypnotic, evocative pattern, vibrant colourful vitality and martial prowess unmatched - still the warning is unheeded, as it all ends in fire, immense black starfish-like shapes descending from above, from outside, the vast arms reaching down, consuming, gorging themselves, altering and forcing the universe to their whims and base needs, cold metal structures closing off something beautiful and vital, silencing the melodies, imprisoning the colours…

* * *

Liara gasped as she fell to her knees before Shepard could lend her a hand - and in any case, the Spectre himself was looking pale and unsteady. The two climbed back the ramp, Shepard issuing commands for securing the databanks and the Beacon for transport when the air crackled with power, the sharp tang of ozone suffusing their nostrils. Something was pressing in, something vast, distant, and ancient, the weight of it almost enough to crush her - and Liara saw that others were struggling to remain standing as well. At least it was not simply her imagination …

A faint, glowing outline of Saren's ship glowed in the air, the image pulsing with power and malice. The voice emanating from it was felt as much as it was heard, an even, deep, void-cold bass drone.

"You are not Saren."

"Spirits below… What is that?" Garrus' voice sounded as stunned as she felt herself.

"Rudimentary creatures of blood and flesh, you touch a segment of my mind, fumbling in ignorance, incapable of understanding."

"Keelah, that's not a VI, that's..." Tali's omnitool glowed, set for recording even as she typed furiously.

"There is a realm of existence so far beyond your own you cannot even imagine it. I am beyond your comprehension. I am the Sovereign Will of Tsara'noga, the Vanguard of the Harvest."

Shepard's voice was dry, crackling with disbelief and something she did not care for one bit.

"Sovereign isn't just some Reaper ship Saren found. It's an actual Reaper!"

"Reaper? A label created by the Protheans to give voice to their destruction. In the end, what they chose to call us is irrelevant. We simply... are."

"The Protheans vanished over 50,000 years ago. You couldn't have been there, it's impossible!" Disbelief and worry threaded the voice of the turian centurion who spoke.

"Organic life is nothing but a genetic mutation, an accident. Your lives are measured in years and decades. You wither and die. We are eternal, the pinnacle of power and existence. Before us, you are nothing. Your extinction is inevitable. We are the end of everything."

"Whatever your plan is, it's going to fail. I'll make sure of that." Liara felt immense relief at hearing the usual steel in the Spectre's voice.

"Confidence born of ignorance. The cycle will not be broken."

"Cycle? What cycle?" Tali's voice was soft, barely heard - and Liara felt a cold, momentary stab of vindictive satisfaction when the answer corroborated her oft-dismissed theory.

"The pattern has repeated itself more times than you can fathom. Organic civilizations rise, evolve, advance, and at the apex of their glory they are extinguished. The Protheans were not the first. They did not create the Citadel. They did not forge the mass relays. They merely found them - the legacy created by me and a brother of mine."

"Why would you construct the mass relays and leave them for someone else to find?" Wrex growled, his tone suggesting that he already had an answer and did not like it.

"Your civilizations are based on the technology of the mass relays. Our technology. By using it, your civilization develops along the paths we laid out for you. We impose order on the chaos of organic life. You exist because we allow it, and you will end because we command it."

"They're harvesting us! Letting us advance to the level they need, then wiping us out!" Tali's voice was conveying the same sick horror Liara felt, and she could see Wrex nod grimly from the corner of her eye.

"My kind transcends your very understanding. We are the perfect beings free from all weakness of the flesh. You cannot grasp the true nature of our existence."

"Where did you come from? Who built you?"

"We have no beginning. We have no end. We are infinite. Millions of years after your civilization has been eradicated and forgotten, we will still rule."

"Where are the rest of the Reapers? Are you the last of your kind?"

"I am legion. The time of the Harvest is coming. I will descend upon you in numbers that will darken the sky of every world. You cannot escape your doom."

"You're not even alive! Not really. You're just a machine, and machines can be broken!" The sheer defiance of the Spectre's voice lifted Liara's spirits.

"Your words are as empty as your future. I am the Vanguard of your destruction. This exchange is over."

The projection dissipated with a pulse of power that staggered everyone present apart from Shepard and Wrex. The Spectre's omnitool chimed with an incoming call, and Liara saw the human's face pale a shade as he accepted the call, orienting his screen so that the others could also see and hear it.

"Yes, Admiral?"

While Liara was not really good at reading turian expressions, the sharp hiss of the turians present indicated the severity of the Admiral's countenance.

"Spectre, the mass relay just lit up - and the Citadel Control verified that they did not revoke the access restriction."

A vile, untranslatable curse from Wrex, and a dark muttering from the turians present underlined Shepard's answer.

"Saren's coming, Admiral - and his dreadnought is likely even more powerful than we estimated."

Vipsania's gaze wandered slightly aside, checking something off screen, then she chuckled grimly before nodding to herself.

"Well, if the Eden Prime reports and the estimates based off them are reliable to even a small extent, I can give you maybe half an hour for evacuation. With the state my ships are in, I can't really delay on a ship that powerful for longer."

Shepard concentrated for a moment, then his face morphed into a grim mask.

"Admiral, detail ships for the evacuation, and prepare for an immediate departure once the ground team are on board. Delay and harass Saren, but try to stay alive and get to the relay; I'll send you a report in a few minutes. Patch in Commodore Anderson, would you?"

The turian nodded, and the screen split, showing the dark-skinned human as well.

"David, we are not giving Saren a chance to reclaim this place. Give us fifteen minutes to evacuate, then drop six C-type shells on the base." Liara was not the only one who looked appropriately queasy at that. Shepard went on. "Meanwhile, try reprogramming the guidance system on a few other such shells; I'd like you to prepare a bit of a welcome for our barefaced friend."

* * *

Liara had no clear recollection of the insane rush of activity in the following minutes - but she decided that from then on, she'd never, ever frown upon military discipline and the insanity of humans and turians. After all, evacuating hundreds of people while a Precursor dreadnought (or something even worse, her traitorous mind supplied) was bearing down on them was no mean feat, yet the people of Admiral Vipsania and Commodore Anderson did just that. And for a wonder, they lost only a single frigate doing it, which broke apart when the atmospheric entry was ever-so-slightly miscalculated.

Sure, by that time she was on the Normandy, watching the feed from the recon drone and picket force left at the relay - and she could not suppress a shiver as the spinning relay flashed with an incandescent blue-white light, and disgorged several geth vessels, spearheaded by a massive black dreadnought that seemed to darken the very void with its simple presence, the tips of the behemoth's leg-like protrusions flared with a baleful red light, and the erupting beam simply sliced apart a turian frigate, the kinetic barrier and shield of the ship offering no visible resistance to it. The others started an evasive pattern, trying to run in-system, to spool up their FTL drives, she did not know - mainly because the ancient ship accelerated at a rate far faster than any of them would have believed, and simply rammed through the second ship, another flash of the red beam reaching out and caressing the third one, transforming the turian vessel into a burned-out, molten wreck.

"Joker, we are leaving." The command was quiet, hard. The pilot swallowed, his hands dancing across the instruments as the Normandy lifted off, and raced towards the inky darkness of space.

"Anderson, now!"

Liara shuddered as she saw the six blazing trails arching through the atmosphere. With unerring aim, the man-made meteors impacted into Saren's base, and the shockwave almost swatted the Normandy from the sky. Magma erupted from the broken crust and the water from the small inlet was vaporized in the instant the bombs hit. Quakes deform the surface of Virmire, almost as if a wounded sentient was thrashing around in pain, and then the young asari saw the sickeningly familiar vortices of colour form above the massive impact crater. The unsane tendrils of light burrow into the crust, a circle of gray pallor spreading from them, visible from near-orbit.

The insane, mocking giggle echoes within the Normandy, as more and more of the mantle of Virmire is lifted in the emerging tornado of scintillating, nameless colour created by the linking tendrils of unearthly light, the impact crater visibly growing as Liara watches in horrified fascination - once again, she is witnessing the end of a world killed by something from beyond the fragile walls of sanity. The swirling dance of unlight reaches for the ships racing away from the doomed planet, and she shudders when the massive vortex collapses into itself, the explosion sending a shockwave racing across Virmire, driving a wave of water and earth in front of itself, transforming the garden world into a twisted, graying hellscape.

The horrific sight does provide her with a measure of hope, though - even an ancient monster like Sovereign should have trouble resisting this kind of firepower.

And with that hope in her heart, Liara T'Soni is a silent witness to the might of Sovereign as the Reaper drives straight into the salvo of makeshift shells, not even bothering to use its powerful beam weapon. The jury-rigged guidance systems and launchers do the best they can, but even so, Commodore Anderson's flotilla manages to score only five hits from over twenty shots fired. Tentacles of scintillating colours try to pry open the armored hide of the Reaper, their touch turning the matte black of the ancient starship into drab, lifeless gray, and for a brief second, she is sure that they have succeeded.

Then she sees the corpse-green light racing across the hull of the Reaper, burning away the grayness, melting off the tentacles of light, and she winces as the distant, mocking giggling ends with a half-angry half-terrified shriek.


	16. Interlude - Encounters

**Interlude - Encounters of the explosive kind**

* * *

 **Unidentified research facility, Binthu, Yangtze system**

Nihlus Kryik frowned in concentration as his omnitool worked on decrypting and opening the gate to the building. He was not sure what they would find inside but considering how hard it was to locate the site and the rather unfriendly welcome of the remote-controlled turrets, he doubted it would be pleasant. Still, between himself and Tela, he was fairly sure they could take on the whole base without undue problems. Just for safety, he sent off a quick status report to Bau and programmed his ship to prepare for a bombardment in five hours if neither him nor Tela signalled anything back. And as a precaution, he routed extra power from his suit's power pack to the comm device to punch through the jamming if he needed to call the ship in.

The light of the access panel blinked green, and the two Spectres shared a small smirk - then the lithe asari vanished inside, seemingly melding with the shadows within. Nihlus followed cautiously, senses and sensors tracking for any anomaly, any sign of opposition. The racket the turrets made had to have alerted any alive personnel present on the base, and he forced himself to focus even more than usual on the surroundings - though that had the (unfortunate) side effect of being even more aware of the way Tela moved, the sinuous, fluid grace still captivating after years of working together. A quick shake of his head to clear his thoughts - just in time to catch the glimpse on his suit sensors. With a comm click, he alerted his partner, sending the scant targeting data to Tela's visor.

The asari disappeared behind a bulkhead, even though Nihlus could have sworn the space was not enough for hiding even an assault rifle. A scant few seconds later, a trio of armored humans turned into the corridor, rifles in hand but obviously not really expecting anything like the armored turian; who flared his jump pack and leapt at them. A swift blow killed broke the neck of one who survived his landing, and before he could deal with the third, a glowing fist crashed into the mercenary's face with a sickening, fatal crunch as Tela loomed from the shadows.

A quick search of the corpses did yield precious little results - the omnitools were encrypted, and neither of the Spectres wanted to spend time decrypting those here, since the patrol likely had to check in periodically. The equipment was of rather better quality than even the Blue Suns issued to its regulars, and the double hexagonal insignia seemed familiar for some reason. Nihlus dismissed that faint nagging feeling, he would have time to consider that later, once they cleaned out the installation. With a courteous gesture towards his companion, the duo headed into the depths of the building, searching for clues, terminals, squeezable personnel.

The relative silence and peace does not last long, and Nihlus can't recollect whether he or Tela missed something with the third patrol. It is moot, at any rate - one of the mercenaries was able to get a burst off from his rifle, and that, naturally, set all alarms in the base howling. The two Spectres looked at each other for a second, the asari shrugged before smirking, as she vanished with the boom of displaced air, using her biotics to charge ahead, obliterating all who sought to bar her way. Nihlus shook his head before following her, brief bursts from his jetpack lengthening his stride, allowing him to keep up somewhat with Tela's speed.

The defenders, once aware of the intruders, were quite skilled and well-armed; the turian suspected that even a Blackwatch or STG team may have had difficulties overcoming them without casualties. Against two Spectres though? Precious little chance. Sure, both he and Tela got hit and bled for it when concentrated fire or lucky sniper shots overwhelmed their shields and barriers before recharging - but neither of them were seriously hurt by the time they hunted down the last guardians of the facility. Their true problems started just after that.

Already during the cleansing they encountered evidence for rather sickening experiments - who in his right mind would attempt to crossbreed humans and rachni, of all things? Deliberately infecting sentients with Thorian spores, to create Creepers? Testing biological reagents deliberately tailored against various races, including humans? Ritualistic evisceration and murder? Despite all he has seen in his career as a Spectre, Nihlus could not fully distance himself from the disturbing imagery and scenes - and Tela's barely-restrained fury certainly did not help.

Their focus almost completely devoted to the troubling data and grim implications of just what exactly certain parts of the Alliance government have been doing, neither of the two Spectres noticed the reactor status update in time. Though in fairness, that could also have been caused by a rather zealous, skilled, and quick Cerberus technician, who used his last few moments to initiate a failure of containment in the reactor, and disabled the relevant alarms, feedback, and control options - just before an elegant, custom shotgun of asari manufacture splattered his upper body all over the workstation. Even so, had Nihlus not been wearing his repaired armor, or if he had scrubbed the monitoring subroutines emplaced before he went off with the Normandy, neither he nor Tela would have stood a chance.

A red indicator blinked in existence at the corner of the turian's vision, and he blink-clicked it to display the details - and Tela's instincts immediately went into full combat mode, seeing her partner pale behind his faceplate.

"Tela, we are leaving, now - just grab what we have, forget the datamining!" His fingers flew over his omnitool, sending frantic commands to their ship. "No time to explain now, just run!"

His fingers latched on her wrist, and he flared his jump pack, pushing the machine to its limits as they zoomed along the twisting maze of corridors, racing for the surface, his HUD still displaying an energy signature that has haunted all turians since they encountered it on Shanxi. The signs of a Yutani-Yi reactor going critical, discarding its restraints.

Despite being in an enclosed space, both could feel a slight wind, tainted with something foul; faint sounds wormed their way into their ears, their souls. The jump pack sputtered and died in a crackle of electricity as its system could not tolerate the sustained load. Before Nihlus could even start cursing, Tela grabbed his wrist, and his world became a blue-white tunnel of light as they erupted to the surface of Binthu, the asari's face a mask of blood and sweat, and she swayed, almost fainting from overexertion. He pulled her along, racing, stumbling for their approaching ship, its ramp already open, yet Nihlus knew they were anything but safe yet. Dropping his companion into a seat, he raced to the cockpit, and gunned the engines, the ship shooting straight out the atmosphere of the doomed planet - and the turian Spectre's last view of the research facility was a mass of black-green slime flowing over everything like a blasphemous tide, glaring at him from uncountable, baleful eyes and the mocking, hateful cry of "Tekeli-li!" ringing in his ears.

* * *

 **Vancouver, Terra**

The small temple was not often host to such a sizable congregation - understandable, as the adherents of this particular branch of faith were straining the official Alliance policy about religious freedom and ethics. Still, none of the people present thought for a moment that what they did, what they believed in was in any way detrimental to the cause of Humanity. After all, every member present pledged life, soul, and sanity to ensure that their kind would not be swept aside by the uncaring, pitiless Universe - and that they would use any and all means necessary to achieve that noble goal. Sure, their contemporaries might label them as insane zealots, irresponsible revolutionaries or plain madmen, but the generations following them would realize the enormous sacrifice.

The members of the congregation would follow in the footsteps of their famous predecessors like Dr. Ambrose Dexter or General J. F. C. Fuller - never working for recognition, never craving fame, but always, always keeping the betterment of Mankind as their main goal. And unlike the mostly technocratic leadership of the current Alliance, they recognized that sometimes more esoteric methods and threats were also to be factored in. Sure, there were official steps in this direction as well, and that was good - the University of Kathmandu, and the N7∆ were both worthwhile and effective, but both of those were young and inexperienced.

Their own congregation was anything but - they have existed for over three centuries, and their sources of intelligence stretched back much, much farther than that paltry amount of years. For them, time or space was a rather small obstacle when attempting to gain information. Still, they were not perfect - while their sources always provided pertinent data, it was exceedingly hard to interpret, as mostly it was obfuscated behind a veil of allegories, symbols, and metaphors.

Even so, there were occasions when the congregation received unquestionable information - and in such cases, they gladly paid the price. What did a dozen lives matter, when the Fate of all Humanity hung in the balance? Any of them would volunteer to act as a sacrifice, and in fact, half of the barely-alive husks writhing on the cold floor were former members of the faith. The other six, well, there were always parts of humanity that did not deserve any further chance - and with the proper connections, it was not too difficult to get access to the penal facilities.

The chanting rose and fell, as the blood of the sacrifices slowly filled up the grooves of the ritual circle, and a faint, cold blue radiance shimmered into existence, etching lines of light into the blood-tainted darkness of the chamber. In the center of the arcane web of symbols, a many-faceted gemstone started to pulse with the heartbeat of a galaxy slowly awakening. Within the shadowy depths of the curiously alight facets, images swirled in a never-ending dance of space-time. The members of the circle closed and averted their gazes as they chanted, only the leader of the group, the designated successor of the old knowledge peered deep into the kaleidoscope of impressions, as was his right and sacred duty, handed down from his distant ancestor.

The images flickering in the now-shining cosmic gemstone flashed rapidly past the eyes of the watcher, yet he knew they would haunt him in the darkness of night and void alike. A lesser man's sanity would crack from that thought alone, yet he persevered, bending his formidable will to the task of directing, influencing the dreamlike vistas. A vast, ebony metal hand stretched down from the sky, death and destruction raining from its fingertips; then the image zoomed out, and more of the selfsame hands could be seen, reaching down to immolate and consume all life in their unending hunger. A glorious vision of a laurel-wreathed Imperator, his eyes cold and merciless, an endless rain of blood cascading from his hands and heart. Impossible, huge shapes moving in the dark depths of an ocean, vengeance, malice and fear gripping their thought patterns. A dark, unreal city of angles and shadows, of patient malice, filled with inhuman creatures with dreams soaked in death and ruin. The starless night of the Outer Void, radiating endless, uncaring, selfish hunger, ever stirring closer to awakening. Again and again, the hands of metal returned, burning, killing, absorbing all in their path, turning verdant worlds into lifeless husks.

The chanting slowed, as the last gasp of the desperately struggling sacrificial member finally died away, the radiance slowly dimmed along with the light flickering within the facets of the ancient crystal. The leader tottered a few steps back, breathing hard, fighting against the nausea and terror creeping into his guts and soul. Sure, the visions were not always easy to interpret, but this time, he thought that the undertones of menace and warning were quite clear in their own right.

Turning towards the members of his congregation, General Ungern-Sternberg starts issuing commands. The horrors of malevolent dreams will not end Humanity - not in his life, not on his watch. Not if he has to sacrifice half of humanity to save the others. He and his people will protect Mankind - by any and all means necessary.

* * *

 **?, ?**

The sun feels warm on his skin, the gentle lapping of the blue waves is soothing for his nerves - for the first few moments, he allows himself to luxuriate in the relaxing atmosphere; it has been so long since he could just lay back and enjoy something like this. Images, memories skitter in his mind, and his muscles and limbs burn with the exertion of rowing for hours under the selfsame Aegean sky. With a sigh, he opens his eyes, and turns towards his host, the other seemingly materializing from thin air.

A single look at the other's face, and he's tensing up in wariness and surprise - there is pain, sure, he expected that after all these years; but there is something more. Something deeper, darker. More clandestine.

With a deliberate effort, he calms himself. He knows the other would not be here unless there was a rather serious reason for it. Thus, he composes himself, and waits, only acknowledging his host with a deep, respectful nod.

"I am sorry, my friend." He feels his jaw hanging open at the tone of the usually resonant, mellifluous baritone; the deep sadness, the hurt, the betrayal. "I am afraid I might have to break the promise I made so long ago on the shores of a certain island."

He closes his eyes, exhales softly, then he nods.

"I suppose I am not surprised - I may have retired a while ago" the smile his host flashes at that is a wan, pale thing "but my clearances still work. I do have some ideas about how large the problem is, especially after Feros and Noveria."

His host nods, eyes dark with terrible foresight.

"It is even worse than I originally thought - we don't have centuries, we are lucky if we get years. I know you already did much, much more than could be asked of anyone, and I do remember I promised you as many normal lives as you care to live, my friend, but I am afraid this time, your direct involvement would be very helpful."

He can't help himself, and barks a short, surprised laugh.

"Me, help you? Old friend, you do remember that I am nothing special, right? Even that girl you found about two-three hundred years ago, what's her name, Alivia - even she's more powerful than me. What could I possibly do that you two can't?"

"Don't sell yourself short, my friend." The tone is gently chiding. "You are vastly more skilled and experienced than you give yourself credit for."

"Still, my question stands. How could I help, when you already have so much pull with the Alliance nowadays?" He notes how his host's face contorts into a small grimace, and braces himself for the inevitable comeback.

"I need your help in locating someone - or perhaps I should say something that can give Humanity an advantage in surviving the coming storm." His host looked down, before raising his head again, the golden eyes boring into his own gaze. "We both know that I could do it without your help in time, but that is the only commodity we do not have at this point." A brief, dark chuckle. "I suppose that's rather ironic, for people like us."

He furrows his brow in thought for a few short seconds, considering. In the end, he nods - and realizes that there never was a chance of him doing anything else. Not this time. Not when his old friend needed help; not when humanity needed help.

With a sigh, he reached out, and shook Professor Munir Yildirim's hand.

And then, Major Olof Pieterzoon awoke, his hand reaching out to find the ancient, intricate skull-shaped compass.


	17. Chapter 12

**Citadel, Council chambers**

Tali fidgeted as she watched the events over Virmire replay again, and she could not suppress her shivering - she still did not fully believe that so many of them managed to get away from that hellhole of a system, and that ebony monstrosity. She hated how her mind tallied and listed the lives lost when she saw a ship explode on-screen, or spiral into its death when grabbed by the gravity well of Virmire. Sure, the crazy turian admiral managed to get about half of her ships to safety, and the decision and cost obviously sat ill with her. Still, looking at the slim, bandaged turian, Tali could not help but feel sympathy and a rather larger amount of awe than she thought possible - and all without any pang of jealousy. Being an admiral's daughter, she thought she understood quite well the price of command, and travelling with Shepard and Wrex had certainly been an eye-opening experience - yet only now, seeing the haunted eyes and proud but sad posture of Admiral Vipsania, did she fully realize what flag rank would actually mean in war.

On the screen, the apocalyptic destruction of Virmire plays out, and she unconsciously checked that Wrex and Garrus were still there, still close, still alive. Even across the screen, the effortless ease of Sovereign all but shrugging off those human-made abominations draws a hiss of anger and fear from several onlookers - and then it was her turn, as the recording she made with her omnitool played out on the huge display. Her eyes narrowed in thought as she caught a few people stiffen at the name and title Sovereign used; though all things considered, she perhaps should not have been surprised - after all, both Admiral Lidanya and Councilor Tevos have been around for centuries, and Jondum Bau was the lead Spectre. Still, it was interesting to note the well-masked fear in Tevos, the cold flash of fury on Lidanya, and the grim satisfaction of Bau. She tilted her head, then nodded to herself- obviously, it was some kind of shadowy power play involved with those three, and in the light of the recent past, she was disinclined to dig deeper.

The recording ended, and silence settled over the briefing room. The three councilors exchanged glances, and Sparatus spoke.

"This is exceedingly troublesome, Spectre Shepard. Normally I would love to chastise and decry the Alliance for such a treatment of a garden world, of all things - but in this case, I can't really find any alternative." Tali suppressed a snicker at Garrus' flabbergasted expression, and the turian councilor went on. "It would have been nice to secure that Beacon as well," Sparatus raised his hand to forestall the protest from forming "but again, under the circumstances, that would have been impossible."

Councilor Valern made a throw-away gesture with a hand and spoke.

"Even if it was possible, it may have simply worsened the situation, if these theories about that indoctrination effect are even slightly correct. " He cocked his head to the side, considered. "Perhaps that was how it began for Saren, a contact with this unregistered Beacon..."

"With all due respect, councilors, that is rather irrelevant now." Udina's voice carried an undercurrent of fear and irritation. "The question is now how we proceed."

The three councilors again shared a glance, and Valern turned towards Admiral Vipsania.

"We did receive your preliminary estimate on Seventh Fleet's combat readiness, but would you kindly summarize it for us now?"

The turian female suppressed a wince as she snapped to attention, and spoke.

"I have a dreadnought that is barely holding together. I have five cruisers and a dozen frigates that are only lightly damaged and ready for combat; the rest of my ships would require extensive repairs. In short, Seventh Fleet is currently barely enough for a police action against a minor Terminus warlord, and is wholly unsuited for combat operations on the scale required by the threat level Saren, Sovereign, and their geth present."

Sparatus' eyes flashed at the blunt summary, and Tali thought for a moment he'd refute Vipsania's claims; then the turian closed his eyes, nodding slowly, defeatedly. Valern turned towards Admiral Lidanya.

"Admiral, what forces do we have immediately available?"

The uniformed asari fiddled with her omnitool, and the screen lit up, lists and images of ships scrolling rapidly.

"We have the turian Sixth Fleet, elements from the asari Second and Sixth Fleets including two dreadnoughts, and the Destiny Ascension. We also" she nodded towards Udina and Hackett "have the Alliance's Fifth Fleet on standby, a relay jump away, and Commodore Anderson's task force is docked at the Citadel. Based on the sensor data provided by Admiral Vipsania and Spectre Shepard, I believe we would have a better than even chance against Saren and his fleet, even considering Sovereign's vast firepower."

Tali could not stop a derisive snort from escaping, then she paled as the old asari's eyes fixated on her, the blue gaze cold and merciless - but also not derisive, and her eyes widened as the other woman nodded slightly before Lidanya continued.

"Yes, I am aware how boastful that sounds." Tevos barely managed to suppress an indignant sputtering; all that naval power, and only _better than even chance_ , and the older asari thought it _boastful_? The asari admiral went on in a flat, measured tone. "We would certainly pay a heavy price, especially if we did not manage to eliminate the geth escort vessels quickly, or if Admiral Hackett's experts are not able to improve on the spaceside efficiency of their C-type shells."

Admiral Hackett took over at the glance of the asari, the grim lines of his face seemingly a daemonic mask of a predator.

"We are updating the guidance software as well as recalibrating our launchers; and my people are running simulations if we can channel the force contained within in a more effective way." He flashed a small, grim smile at Lidanya. "I am told our chances are better than even."

Tali noted curiously how, apart from Shepard and Wrex, the only persons not showing discomfort at the mention of improving those monstrosities were Lidanya herself and Bau - then again, as the lead Spectre, she supposed he saw worse; though that consideration made her shiver. Those C-types were horrible enough, she did not need to dwell on things that were even more nightmare-inducing - and as usual, her mind could be trusted to supply the image of the malevolent stare of the Normandy's Tartarus core. She fought for calmness, focusing on the two solid figures next to her, and slowly got her breathing under control, and with that, she could once again pay attention to Lidanya's voice.

"The main issue is that while we do have enough firepower in place for finishing Saren should he attack us here; we have precious little naval capacity to actually go after him." At Shepard's stare, she chuckled, the sound bitter and hard, before she continued. "Yes, Spectre - we managed to find out where he's headed. We have the coordinates for Ilos. And we don't have the means to send a fleet after him there, not in time to stop him."

Tali braced her shoulders, took a deep breath. This was her chance, the Migrant Fleet's chance - and she did not dare waste it, despite the potential cost.

"The Migrant Fleet could provide assistance - we quarians have quite a lot of experience in fighting geth, after all." She swallowed as the gazes of all present focused on her. "My people would only need a safe place for the Civilian Fleet; that way, our warships, or at least a number of our warships could be detached to lend a hand either here or at Ilos."

"Can you actually convince your Admiralty Board about that, Miss Zorah?" Udina's voice carried an undertone of respect, warning - and beneath all, a faint tremor of hope.

Tali tilted her head to the side, considered for a second, before she nodded decisively.

"Yes, I can convince them. The geth are our responsibility, all things considered. And it's not like Saren and Sovereign would give us any chance after the Council, now would they? And besides, this way my people could show that they are different and …." she snapped her mouth shut before she could finish the sentence. Lidanya flashed a faint, bitter smile at her, and Wrex' deep, savagely amused chuckle strangely warmed her, and even Liara's respectful nod felt good.

"Well then, Miss Zorah, when you contact the Migrant Fleet, let them know that the Alliance is willing to lend assistance with the quarian civilian population." And Tali could not stop her jaw from dropping open at Udina's declaration.

* * *

 **Citadel, Spectre offices**

"Shepard, good you could join. Sit." Jondum Bau's voice was flat, emotionless, his gestures and movement measured, calm - and the human's instincts started with the internal alarms. Salarians, even salarian Spectres, did not behave that way. Something or someone must have pissed the semi-official leader of the Spectre corps to a rather alarming extent.

"You ambassador's offer to the quarians - is it genuine? Does he have enough backing to pull it off?"

Shepard deliberated for a moment, before nodding.

"Udina's too much of a politician to openly promise something of this magnitude without being able to pull it off. He could not afford the loss of prestige; or at least his self-esteem couldn't." The human grinned. "Besides, I can partially see his reasoning now that I had some time to digest it - taking the moral high ground when compared to the Council, and getting into the good graces of the quarian engineers? You can rarely hope for something that lucrative, Bau, and he'd be an idiot for not putting his full weight behind that idea."

The salarian nodded sharply, and flashed an appreciative smirk at Shepard.

"Good, you are able to consider political implications as well as military ones. I see why Nihlus likes you." The ranking Spectre's shoulders sagged as he went on. "That makes the following bit rather more difficult and unpleasant."

With a gesture of his omnitool, the wall display came alive, and Shepard winced at the sight. Bau's voice was cold, hard.

"This was taken by Spectres Kryik and Vasir on Binthu. We are still investigating the exact circumstances and background, but the preliminary findings and the data unearthed by them are rather damning on the Alliance." The salarian held up a hand to stop Shepard's refusal, and continued. "Spare me the denials, _Commander_. All our races have their unsavory, dark secrets, and it's not the rather crude butchery that was conducted on Council races that makes _me_ wary. Sure, it would reflect rather bad on the Alliance should it come out, but it's nothing more or less than we ourselves have been doing, _Spectre_. And at any rate, officially it would be surely denied, or cathegorized as a black project going lightyears past its mandate thanks to some insane or power-hungry zealots with way more fanatic patriotism than sanity."

The salarian's gaze bored deep into Shepard's eyes as he continued, his tone level, comparatively slow and measured, the full weight of his title behind every word.

"What I am worried about are the more esoteric implications - especially in light of what Spectres Kryik and Vasir uncovered on Thessia." He laughed at Shepard's surprised face, the sound bitter, grim. "did you for a moment think that I would not send my men to the asari, just because they have a representative on the Council?" Bau's eyes shone with a dangerous light. "We have vast privileges and rights, Spectre - but our responsibility is more than equal to that. And we are not beholden to any individual race, but the people represented by the Council. Recall your oath - we are the first and last line of defense, for the whole galaxy."

Shepard nodded, conceding the salarian's point.

"That is well and good, sir, but then what do you want from me now?"

"I want you to start digging." Bau once again faces the screen, the images scrolling once again, heavily featuring the strange double hexagon. "I want to know if this is just a classified black project gone beyond its mandate, or something more serious. Understand me, _Commander_ : if it's nothing more, then I do not really care about it. Us Council races did this much and more, and we all have our dark secrets even now - and as salarian, I can certainly understand the need for scientific research in such directions."

The salarian exhaled, and he suddenly looked much older - yet magnitudes deadlier and more worrying than anything Shepard previously faced, except maybe an enraged Liara or a berserk Wrex.

"But if it is more than that, _Spectre_ , I want it broken down, and I want those responsible nailed to a cross. I will not have an allied power falling to internal strife because of a fringe group capable of something like this - not when there is a crisis this serious looming over all of us. Am I clear?"

Shepard saluted with a small grin.

"Crystal, sir."

"Good. I already have a couple of independent contractors looking into the issue, and once Nihlus and Tela get back, they will follow up their leads from Thessia and Binthu with the Shadow Broker, but I would like to have another, semi-official peek into the things on the Alliance's side; after all, your kind seems to have the most practical experience when dealing with esoteric and archeotech threats." Bau flashed a rueful, sad smile. "Well, likely some asari and krogan know more, but getting them to talk takes time. And that's something we do not have."

Shepard nodded, and stood up, ready to leave, before he tilted his head to the side, as something nagging in his brain snapped into focus.

"Sir, a question: how did Sovereign manage to get through the mass relay and into the Hoc system at all? Did someone hack into the relay controls here?"

Bau's gaze went cold and distant.

"No, Shepard. The signal for the relay to allow traveling seems to have come from Sovereign itself, and it overrode the control settings we sent from here."

"Sir, but if it can do that, what is preventing it to jump through the Widow relay, and close it off, leaving Hackett's fleet on the other side? And even if there are safeguards in place against that likely override, what if Saren manages to infiltrate the Citadel Control?"

The salarian grimaces, nods.

"Those are points Admirals Lidanya, Vipsania, and Hackett discussed, and they came to a conclusion that the risk of being cut off is worth the possibility of catching the geth between the Citadel defenses and Hackett's ships. We do have a control signal in place, and the proximity of the Citadel itself would require Sovereign to devote a significant amount of energy into punching through the command signal." A swift breath, and Bau continued. "As for dealing with possible infiltrators, I detailed three Spectres to the control room, along with teams of Blackwatch, Serrice Guard, and N7s."

The salarian's lips peel back in a vicious smile, showing far too many, far too pointed teeth - and Shepard returns it in kind.

"If Saren comes to the Citadel to play, we are definitely going to give him a rather warmer welcome than he would like. If there's nothing else, Shepard, I suggest you prepare for your task - Ilos will not wait much longer, and you still need to rendezvous with the quarians."

The human nodded, and saluted, before turning to leave.

* * *

 **SSV Normandy, en route to the Mu Relay**

As the Normandy left the Citadel again after little more than two frantic days of resupply, planning, and repairs, with barely a half-day of shore leave for the personnel, Liara felt more tired since the fateful day when Shepard's team freed her from the Prothean trap on Therum. She knew that they had a few days until they reached the Mu Relay and joined with the incoming quarian fleet, but she felt somewhat at a loss at what to do with her available time. She was not, officially, a member of the crew, she did not have to stand watch or get involved in the day-to-day workings of the ship like Tali did. Earlier, she busied herself with running theoreticals on Saren and Benezia's goals, meditating, occasionally talking with Wrex and Tali - but now, she felt at a total loss what to do.

She tried talking with Wrex again, and that snowballed into a rather involved discussion with him and Garrus arguing about the best weapon loadout she should take when landing on Ilos. After about half an hour, she decided to leave them to their bickering, as their suggestions at times bordered on the extremely impractical. Really, who in their right mind would take a portable nuclear launcher to an enclosed battlefield? She was no commando, and the rollercoaster events since Therum had forced her to adapt to rather more quickly than she thought, but still, that did not sound sane enough. Wrex' suggestions about close combat were also less than helpful - she was not a krogan, she did not go around headbutting or eating people!

Still, at least the old krogan dropped a few interesting hints, which she could not help but ponder, especially when she draw the connections to their experiences on Feros and Noveria. To think that the old warlord faced things that enabled him to look at those abominations of the Thorian without flinching, to look at the death of a world with cold indifference - no, she wasn't sure she really wanted to delve into the events Wrex alluded to. Yet, wouldn't that be kind of her responsibility? Her task, as the ship's resident xenoarcheologist - even if that post was never formalized? At least the crew accepted her as just that, and did not mutter behind her back about her mother's legacy; something she was sure the asari on Thessia would definitely not omit. With a shiver, Liara realized that she very well may have to face either a silent exile from her kind, seek asylum in the Alliance - or face the Justicar Order, supported by the Matriarchy and the Temple of Athame. No, she was not sure which prospect was more frightening to her.

She was still mulling over her bleak-seeming future (and tried to shut out the voice screaming about said future being measured in days, and about Saren and Benezia) when she almost collided with Doctor Chakwas in the medbay's door. Liara muttered an embarrassed apology, and stepped aside to allow the other woman pass. Chakwas tilted her head to the side, studying her face carefully for a few moments, before she spoke.

"If something is troubling you, Doctor, you know that you can always discuss it with me." The asari smiled at the human and nodded, fidgeting a bit. Chakwas' lips curled slightly. "Perhaps we should take this to the medbay, darling?"

She stepped back inside, Liara followed, and the door hissed close behind them. Chakwas dropped down onto her usual chair, leaned back as she focused on the asari.

"So, what is on your mind, Liara?"

"Just … restless, I suppose, I can't seem to find anything to occupy my mind, to help and assist, and with the upcoming fight and the meeting with the quarians I can't focus well enough, and then there's Ilos, you do realize I've been wanting to find that world for decades, just like all xenoarcheologists focusing on Prothean, and now I can..."

Chakwas chuckled, and the warm mirth snapped Liara out of her increasingly swift-paced tirade, and the young asari smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Doctor Chakwas. I got a bit carried away, I suppose."

The older woman nodded sagely, with a small smile on her lips.

"I suggest you speak with the Commander, then - perhaps he can give you a suitable task that will take your mind off all that you described." Liara blushed, opened her mouth to deny, to say anything, but was cut off by Chakwas' raised hand. "A talk would be good for both of you. In case you haven't noticed, Shepard barely comes out from his cabin to eat or do a daily check on the ship. So you might as well see what keeps him so busy, Doctor - perhaps that would sufficiently distract both of you."

Liara tilted her head to the side, considering, before she nodded with a faint blush.

"Thank you, Doctor Chakwas, I believe I shall follow your advice."

The young asari did not hear the low muttering about 'winning the pool' or 'obtuse kids' as she marched across the mess deck, and stood in front of Shepard's cabin, placing her hand on the entry panel, then the door chimed, the lock flashed from red to green, and the door slid open. Swallowing nervously, ignoring the strange feeling deep within, Liara stepped inside the Spectre's cabin for the first time.

"I'll be with you in a moment, T'soni." Shepard's voice sounded from the separated bedroom/refresher part of the small cabin, leaving Liara standing in his, for lack of a better word, stateroom. She panned her gaze over the pile of datapads on his desk, the short shelf full of actual, honest-to-Athame paper books (and no, she did not step closer so she could touch each book, she was more disciplined than that), and to the side, half-hidden by the desk, a glowing stasis field shielding a handful of peculiar tomes - that immediately twigged on the xenoarcheologist's instincts in her. Turning away from the shelf, and stepping back, she tilted her head to get a better view, eyes narrowed in concentration as she studied the old artifacts.

"You know, I can't decide if you are planning on reading or ravishing them."

Liara almost felt her neck snap as she spun around to face the Spectre, a blushing denial and admonishment dying on her lips as she saw him - and her eyes went wide at the sight of the strange pattern of recent scars adorning Shepard's arms, her hand automatically going to her omnitool to summon Chakwas, or administer medigel … before the human's surprisingly gentle touch stopped her.

"Don't worry, T'soni - this job comes with a number of unfortunate side effects, and at times operatives like me want to ensure that we can do the task at hand." Liara almost reeled at the dark but genuine humor in the Spectre's voice. "And anyway, you should not worry about it, they'll fade soon enough, I just needed a bit more energy than I thought."

At her inquisitive glance, he shook his head ruefully, before flashing a smile at her.

"What brings you here, Liara? Are you planning to use me for my books and the few meager artifacts I have?"

She stiffened and blushed at his words, torn between wanting to sink in embarrassment and hitting him with the strongest biotic field she could muster; in the end, she opted for glaring at him, though the effect was lessened by her still-noticeable blush and that infuriating smirk he wore. For a second, she tensed and hoped, sure against all sane expectations that Wrex would drop once again something comment about krogan courtship, just to see Shepard lose that smirk. She glared at the man when the old krogan failed to materialize. The Spectre raised a hand in an apologetic gesture.

"Sorry. I'm told my humor can be off at times."

"Yes it is, Commander. Just be glad that we asari have decades or even centuries to cultivate enough patience to deal with such attempted levity." She held herself in the imperious pose fitting for a Matriarch just a second longer, then she chuckled. "Not that I could claim to have too much experience on that front, honestly."

"I'd say you are doing fine, Liara. And seriously, what brings you here?" At her hesitant expression, Shepard stepped closer, voice lowered. "Nervous about what happens when we get to Ilos?"

A nod was all Liara could manage, not trusting her willpower with more. Shepard frowned in thought, then sighed, stepped back to his desk, and deactivated the stasis field - and Liara's eyes widened as she could actually fully appreciate the tomes practically screaming 'ancient, priceless relics' to her. Then her yes narrowed, as she took in the curious binding materials, and her stomach roiled as she realized exactly what type of skin was used. A quick look at Shepard, and his answering nod confirmed her suspicion.

"Why keep something this … barbaric around, Shepard? Even if you were the mindless Butcher others harp on about, you would not do that." She tilted her head, thought for a few seconds. "Unless, you actually earned that name by doing something that has to do with this..." Her eyes tracked the covering, her voice stumbling over the unfamiliar name. "... this Liber Ivonis? Or something similar, I think. Care to enlighten me?"

Liara again stopped speaking, considered.

"Well, that is, if you are allowed to. If you actually can? I am not sure, you understand, but after Feros and Noveria, after what I've seen from you and what Wrex hinted at, I have a … theory about why humans always seem so interested in xenoarcheology. And why the Alliance has such an … overwhelming approach to related dangers."

"Well, I can explain some, Doctor - but trust me, it is not a nice story. And quite a lot of our best and brightest have suffered dire consequences from studying artifacts such as this." The old tome creaked in his hand. "Are you sure you want to risk that, T'soni?" There was something in his eyes she could not decipher.

"I have a suspicion that not knowing may be riskier in the long run." For a moment, she could not understand why he was grinning; then it dawned on her what she said exactly, and she could not help laughing as well. "So Commander, enlighten me, before we go on to ensure that there is, indeed, a long run."

As Shepard started explaining, Liara got comfortable on the small sofa, listening intently to the operative - the xenoarcheologist, the scientist in her drank in the words, mind dizzy with implications, theories, arguments to counter the insane web he spun to her. The young asari maiden, however, paid attention to rather different aspects of the Spectre.

* * *

 **SSV Normandy, Pangaea Expanse, Refuge system**

Tali was worried again. Sure, the meeting with Han'Gerrel and Daro'Xen went well enough, but mainly because she, Liara and Garrus managed to convince the two admirals to see reason … and perhaps more importantly, discouraged Wrex and Shepard to throw the two quarian leaders out an airlock. Sure, Han'Gerrel was a rather abrasive man, and Daro'Xen would easily qualify as the quintessential mad scientist, but still, they were leaders of her race, and friends, partners of her father. And if she wanted to be honest with herself, despite all that she has seen since Wrex took her under his wings, she could still feel the disdain most of the Council showed her kind - and the calculating pragmatism of the likes of Udina was not really much better, in her opinion. Of course, she also fumed when her own Admirals discarded her ideas just because she was a young girl still on her Pilgrimage.

She bit off a vindictive, sharp laughter when she recalled the reactions from Wrex and Shepard to that little remark of Daro'Xen; even if those smiles would haunt her nightmares for awhile, it was worth it. The Admiralty Board should be proud or at least satisfied with her - after all, she did manage to wring concessions out from the Citadel Council (not that it was hard when the representative was her own Captain), and gotten the Migrant Fleet a safe harbor within Alliance space as well as a possible membership in the Citadel Council. Even her father sent a rather heartfelt congratulations when Han'Gerrel and Daro'Xen notified him and the rest of the Board.

Her fingers danced over the controls of the core diagnostics panel, as the Normandy raced towards the Mu Relay, the quarian task force following close behind - and hopefully, they would manage to finish the hunt for Saren and his geth, showing those bigoted fossils on the Council what a mistake they made when their predecessors left the quarians to fend for themselves during the exodus from Rannoch. Finally, her people would earn back their place in the galactic community, and erase the largest mistake of their past - and if she was lucky, it would be done before she gave herself more nightmares from the mere vicinity of the Tantalus core. Her fingers absently playing with the small trinket Shepard gave her (and the rest of the Council observers), she narrowed her eyes at the drive core, the rhythmic pulse of the core somehow taunting, mocking her.

She almost jumped out of her suit when the comm crackled to life, and Shepard's voice sounded.

"Tali, Liara, Wrex, come up to the cockpit."

With a last glare at the core and a nod towards Adams, she left Engineering.

The cockpit felt rather crowded when she arrived - of course, any enclosed space with Wrex inside tended to have that effect. Garrus was sitting in the seat next to Joker, targeting data and weapon readiness readouts scrolling on his screens, and she had to suppress a snicker at his sincere but constant efforts to calibrate the armament to an ever-finer quality. Shepard was standing directly behind them, looking at the telemetry data from a recon drone, and Liara was hanging back, busy at a console. Wrex simply leaned back, grinning toothily at everyone.

Reflexively, Tali glanced at the screen the Spectre and Joker were studying, and she felt her jaw drop.

"That's all of them? Where are the other ships? Where is the geth fleet gone? Are we running into a trap" She almost did not recognize her own voice due to the shrill note of disbelief.

"Relax, kid. It seems your people will miss the show spaceside." Wrex bared his teeth in a savage smile. "On the other hand, if your Marines are willing to come dirtside..."

"Later, Wrex." Shepard's voice was calm, yet she could hear the underlying urgency. "Tali, I want you and Liara to try and come up with a good scanning program that might help us narrow down where Saren's forces are." He raised a hand to stop her before she could open her mouth. "I know they are likely already left, but we are somewhat lacking in options. If they are still on-planet, I want to find them and stop them as quickly as possible. If they are gone, I want to know that fast, so we can turn around and race back to the Citadel."

Tali thought for a moment, then nodded, her omnitool lighting up as she stepped to Liara's side, the asari moving a bit to the side so she too could access the scanner.

Two hours later, the Normandy settled on a high orbit around Ilos, the quarian fleet following suit. Tali was rather content that the engagement went well for them - the overwhelming firepower of the Heavy Fleet detachment blew the geth squadron aside, and only took minor hits in return. She only remembered patches from that, focused as she was on the frantic coding effort on perhaps the most slapdash piece of software ever put together by a quarian engineer. Admittedly, it was nice that Liara let her take the lead, and was content with not getting in her way and providing only relevant assistance when they put together the search parameters for typical Prothean structures and energy signatures. She even offered to officially publish the program, with Tali as the chief architect - provided she polished it up a bit for commercial use.

Tali could dimly hear Shepard arguing with Han'Gerrel about something to do with the Marines, but honestly, her focus was on the scanner display, just like Liara's. Pride at her craft warred with worry in her, as more and more of Ilos' surface was proven devoid of any trace of geth. For an insane minute, she even hoped that they had gotten here before Saren, and that almost made her panic as she thought of her people having to face Sovereign - but then the scanner pinged at the same time Joker cursed. A very distinct energy signature started on the surface, in the middle of what was likely a Prothean city. Wrex barked a short, angry curse, while Garrus muttered something about spirits, and Liara closed her eyes, seemingly in prayer.

"And now we know why Benezia called it a Conduit." Shepard's voice was cold.

Tali nodded, mutely watching as the impossible signature of a mass relay spinning up for transport was clearly shown on the Normandy's scanner.

* * *

 **Ilos, Prothean ruins**

Garrus never thought he'd agree with anything Saren said about humanity. Now, strapped into a Mako, about to be dropped from the Normandy's docking bay while the frigate was currently screaming down into the atmosphere of Ilos in an almost-vertical dive, he had to admit that the renegade Spectre was right, and humans were insane monkeys who should never have moved from beyond their dinky solar system. The fact that he had to endure the dark, eager chuckling of Wrex did not help his mood, and not even being pressed close to Tali was enough to take his mind off the likely event of Joker crashing the ship into the surface. No pilot was good enough for that, and even if he was, the drive core could not handle the sudden shift, or the fuselage would be torn apart by the stress. And what was more galling to him, he could not really see a saner alternative than what Shepard proposed. They were likely already late enough as it was, and their backup contingent of quarian marines was only now launching from the orbiting ships.

He heard Joker mutter something about wind and soaring into the open comm channel, but it was mostly lost under Pressly's warning and the roar of power from the direction of the drive core. The Normandy's hull shrieked under the stress of the sudden shift, the inertial compensators howling along with the warning klaxons as the ship stood still for a second, the lamp lowered, and Shepard gunned the Mako's engine. The APC echoed from the triumphant laughter of Wrex, which luckily drowned out the screams of Tali and Liara as they hurtled out into the atmosphere of Ilos, experiencing a moment of free fall before the jump jets ignited and they landed on the surface with a resounding, almost neck-snapping crash as the Normandy raced back towards orbit, weaving around geth rockets and bolts of green lightning.

Even before the wheels have stopped, Garrus was moving. His sniper rifle unfolded, and the opening riffs of his people's anthem thundered into his ears. With a savage smile, he switched to explosive rounds, and with a light touch of the trigger his first hit turned tore off the chest and head of a geth Juggernaut coming to greet them. With a flick of his omnitool, he deployed a dampening field centered on the geth Prime closest to them while he dove into cover behind a ruined statue of some tentacle-eyed alien. The Mako's cannon roared and another Prime was turned into spare parts before the APC started to move, Shepard jumping out from the vehicle followed by Wrex.

The trio on foot raced towards the immense gate slowly closing before them, seeking to bar their way deeper into the Prothean pyramid. His visor's sensors told him the same as his instincts, and Garrus clicked his comm open.

"We won't make it, not like this!"

Both Shepard and Wrex nodded at that, and he felt the temperature drop as hoarfrost crept along the ruins spiralling out from the Spectre while the krogan warlord's biotic corona started to shine stronger and stronger. The turian nodded, they could make it inside, and hopefully hold the gate open while their team got inside - and then the five of them would be able to survive until the quarian marines arrived. His musing was cut short as he noticed a slender blue figure behind the gate and then a blue flare of discontinuity wrenched him from the timeline.

The stasis field did not hold for long - but it was enough for the gate to close, leaving them outside with a host of geth led by three Primes. He threw himself into cover behind a statue, green lightning burning a furrow into the ground behind him. His answering shot was stopped by an orange-colored beehive barrier, that nevertheless broke with a sound like shattering glass. A swipe of his omnitool sent an overload charge into the Prime, hoping to slow it down for the two seconds his rifle needed to finish venting heat. He cursed as the statue began to melt from the barrage of the other geth units - then the now-familiar boom of displaced air sounded, followed by the sounds of metal being torn and the roar of an oversized krogan shotgun as Wrex tore into the geth.

A quick look around, and Garrus cursed. Both Wrex and Shepard were in the middle of the geth horde, heading towards a Prime each - but compared to earlier fights, these ones were giving ground, falling back, seeking to corral the two with those damned barriers and smaller geth units. So far, both of his comrades managed to avoid the worst of the geth fire, but even they could hold out only for so long. The Mako was a burning, half-melted wreck, and for a moment he was worried before he spotted the blue dome of a biotic barrier - Liara was still standing, her face a focused mask as her biotics flared and weathered the geth barrage. Tali was crouched down, frantically typing on her omnitool, before a gesture sent two Destroyers lurching then the hacked geth opened fire on the other mechs. His mandibles parted with a savage grin, and Garrus sighted into the scope of his rifle, pulled the trigger, and turned a Prime's head into a rapidly-expanding cloud of synthetic parts.

The grin was wiped off from his face when the awaited few seconds of confusion failed to manifest - sure, his visor and sensors later corroborated his instincts that the expected latency in geth reactions did happen, but it barely lasted a fraction of a second, too fast to take advantage of. Still, at least the pressure on Tali and Liara eased a bit, and for a quarian engineer like her, it was enough to go on the offensive, hacking geth after geth. With the pressure on her barrier lessening, Liara diverted part of her focus and energy, and singularity after singularity bloomed into existence, tearing mechs from cover, sending them spinning in the air - though most of them continued to fire with rather impressive accuracy even so, their elevated position made them rather easy targets for Garrus.

An eternity of ten minutes later, their team converged on the gate to see if they could open it by the time the quarians landed their marines. As Tali and Liara were busy scanning, trying to find a working access panel or control, Garrus stepped to the quietly conversing Shepard and Wrex.

"So, why did you not order a full-scale orbital bombardment as soon as we spotted that relay signal? Sure, Liara would have pouted over the loss of archeological artifacts, but it would have been much quicker than slogging it with these upgraded geth."

Wrex barked a short, vicious laugh as he shook his head.

"Think, C-Sec. Even if the Butcher had flattened the whole pyramid, even if the explosion of the relay would have taken out a large chunk of the city, would it have guaranteed that Saren and Benezia are both dead? Could you take that chance?"

"Wrex is right, Garrus. Maybe if Sovereign had been in-system, I'd have done that, but with that thing gone, I am not willing to risk the quickest way of following Saren."

The detective considered for a few moments, before he nodded with a rueful shake of his head.

"Yeah, I guess you have a point. I just hate this whole ruined ancient city; not really fun to fight in. And let's not even talk about the insane stunt you and Joker pulled in getting us here."

The human and the krogan flashed identical, half-crazy smiles, and Garrus shivered, before his eyes narrowed with malicious glee.

"Careful you two, Liara will get jealous."

The old warlord simply laughed, while Shepard sent a worried glance towards the asari before glaring at the detective.

"Ladies, any chance we can get through this?"

Liara answered, not turning, her omnitool still scanning.

"Not quickly, and not without seriously tiring ourselves. If Wrex, Shepard and I were to mesh our biotic fields, we might be able to warp through the gate, but that would leave us seriously depleted when facing Saren and … Benezia on the other side." She paused her scanning, turned towards Shepard with a raised eyebrow. "Unless there is some interesting trick up your sleeve, Commander?"

The Spectre shook his head, grimacing.

"Not really. Partly because it could leave me at a disadvantage for later, partly because it would take hours, and partly because it might get easily out of hand. Maybe if it was not a tomb world I'd risk it, but not here and not now."

Garrus gestured towards Wrex, and the two went back to the destroyed Mako to see what they can salvage while they waited for the Migrant Fleet Marines to arrive with breaching charges - and then they descended into the depth of the Prothean pyramid.

* * *

Liara should have been ecstatically happy. Here she was on fabled Ilos, walking amidst the remains of the single largest Prothean city anyone ever found - and she had to spend most of her focus on fighting the geth. And of course not thinking about how to face her mother in the immediate future. Looking at her companions, she worried, especially after the casual display of biotic power Benezia arranged for them at the gates of the complex. How could they, she stand up to that? How could she defend her friends (and maybe possible, hopeful bondmate?) from being overwhelmed by the wrath of a Matriarch?

No, she had to set those thoughts aside. As their group marched deeper into the complex, she found it practically impossible to hold back her inner xenoarcheologist as they walked past the darkened, unpowered stasis chambers containing sadly-deceased Protheans lining the high, dimly lit walls. She frowned at that, considering. There was still power here, as evidenced by the scattered remains of destroyed geth and automated defences they encountered along their way - and also, she could not believe that the builders did not include much, much more additional power sources than even a stasis chamber of this size would require, seeing as they had a working mass relay in place.

More ominously, from what she could tell of her scan results, the vast majority of the stasis pods were shut down only recently - as in not much earlier than their own jump through the Mu Relay. She shuddered at some of the implications to this little tidbit of data, suddenly feeling the whole complex even more ominous than it already was. Not that she was the only one who felt like that - judging by their stances and alertness, most of the quarians accompanying them were very much on edge. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Wrex and Shepard looked rather unfazed, as did the quarian captain, Kal'Reegar.

Liara could not say how long have they walked the meandering corridors, always descending towards the energy signature of the still-working mass relay. Her eyes and omnitool scanned the walls, the stasis capsules, the glyphs and markings; all that with perhaps more intensity than Tali and her engineer companions did the downed geth constructs. Liara could not entirely follow the rapidfire tech-babble about the way the mechs were modified, especially with regards to their cognitive processing abilities, but from what she did understand, these geth were somehow upgraded with foreign code, making them less susceptible to the loss of Primes and similar nodes of network foci.

She did not know who triggered the trap (if it was that), but the barrier curtains igniting behind and in front surprised the whole group. She forced herself to swallow, to bring her pulse under control - after Therum, she well knew how much punishment such devices could weather. Before they could begin blasting their way out, a small, narrow passageway slid open, the door previously completely indistinguishable from the walls, and the scanners still could only detect the passage as solid rock. She only realized that she started moving towards the passage when Shepard's hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"Where are you going, T'Soni?"

She blinked before smiling slightly.

"It would be rude to disregard such a charming invitation, don't you think, Commander?"

Wrex chuckled, and stepped forward, preceding the asari and the human into the narrow tunnel. The walkway ended in a small, circular platform overlooking a vault of stasis pods and data stacks, and despite the circumstances, Liara could not suppress her excitement at the sight - and she did not notice the amused grins shared by Wrex and Shepard behind her back. Her eyes went even wider when the air above the console lit up and a brown, indistinct, flickering mess of a hologram formed, then spoke. She could only partially understand what it said, her shallow knowledge melds with Shepard not nearly enough to gain a similar proficiency in Prothean language as he had. Still, she knew enough to understand the gist of what they were talking about, and her admiration for the long-gone species rose several notches. The last act of the scientists on Ilos was just the kind she and her colleagues would have expected from an enlightened race like the Protheans - and she silently swore that she would do everything in her power to ensure that they did not die in vain.

She started when Shepard cut off the conversation with Vigil after the VI confirmed that Saren and a significant amount of his army already transitioned to the Citadel via the Conduit relay - and that Vigil had a way of navigating ships in the atmosphere to latch onto the relay. For a moment, Liara could not believe that Shepard would leave off questioning the artifact when it was so obvious that they could learn much, much more from it; but then she remembered her mother, and the goals of Saren and Sovereign, and remained silent.

"Tali, I'd like you to stay here with a squad of marines as protection. I'll send Vigil a translation program so you two can interact, and I want you to both coordinate any relay jumps after we clear out the remnants of Saren's forces, and do some data recovery from Vigil's databanks." The Spectre sent a grin towards Liara, the asari returned it with a mock-glare and a small smile. "A certain doctor would never forgive me if we did not try and get as much data from here as possible. Still, focus on tech and history, particularly if Vigil has anything about the Reapers in its databanks."

"Will do, Shepard." Tali's omnitool was already lighting up, her fingers blurring over the keys as she started typing.

"Captain Reegar, if you could detail a squad to remain here, we should leave." The tall quarian nodded, motioned for one of his sergeants, and a dozen quarians moved to stand guard over Tali while she worked. Shepard turned to Tali once more. "If there's trouble, just remember what I told you about that little trinket. And in case we don't meet, it has been an honor, Tali'Zorah vas Neema."

Before Tali could reply, the Spectre marched off, Liara and Garrus nodding goodbye to the quarian before following the commander. Wrex only lingered for a few more moments, his rumbling voice whispered something to Tali, and Liara could not suppress a chuckle as the krogan's laughter was counterpointed by the indignant, mortified shriek of a teenage quarian girl.

The group quickened their progress jogging past the increasingly common geth wrecks and ruined defensive emplacements, the hum of the working mass relay becoming more and more distinct. They emerged from the tunnel into an immense vault dominated and lit by the slowly spinning mass relay in the middle of it. Liara could not really estimate the size of the vast cavern, she was too overwhelmed by the proof of the Prothean's knowledge and might - and then her eyes narrowed as she noticed the blue faces amidst the grey geth shapes. There was a distinct pattern below the mass relay, some arrangement she could not discern at a short glance, but she could see pairs of asari and those bulking cloned krogan from Virmire standing in a twisted embrace … and as her armor's sensors magnified the view, she fought the urge to retch as she beheld the melded, monstrous _things_ that were ringing the foundation of the Conduit.

She only half-heard the discussion between Wrex, Garrus, and Captain Reegar, her gaze flitting across the future battlefield in search of Benezia. After seeing what her mother allowed to (or perhaps ordered to) happen to her sworn acolytes and trusting followers, she wanted to dispose of the thing that wore her mother's face, tainting all that the Matriarch achieved over a thousand years. Liara swore she would die before she allowed that to happen. She caught the end of the quick planning session between the soldiers, and moved to Shepard's side, nodding resolutely at his questioning glance as they started towards the relay.

The quarians got into position first, their snipers and rockets striking into the geth lines awaiting transport, the suddenness and vicious precision of the attack blowing away Armatures and Primes alike, throwing even the upgraded geth into a short confusion. Garrus circled to the side, his sniper rifle booming, and the blue light of a biotic barrier shimmered into existence around Benezia as it stopped the disruptor round. The Matriarch's gaze snapped towards him, and the turian barely managed to dodge a biotic field that sheared off half the console he used for cover. With a contemptuous ease, Benezia gestured, and the immobile mech Garrus dived behind was lifted in the air, forcing the detective to move on. Still, it was a testament to his skill that he managed to snap off another shot, hitting the Matriarch again - and more importantly, distracting her for the few crucial seconds they needed.

With roaring laughter and the boom of displaced air, Wrex charged, the explosion of him hitting the target throwing the few nearby geth clear, and Liara winced, unwilling to imagine the result of the old krogan slamming into her mother. Her eyes widened as she saw Benezia standing tall, a hand outstretched towards the warlord, in the classical throwing mnemonic gesture of asari biotics. That hand, outlined in blue-white energy, gestured again, and Wrex didn't manage to fully dodge the half-melted Prime she threw at him, the glancing hit throwing the krogan to the side, as Benezia drew forth a slim, shimmering blade - or did it extend from the grey-black, form-fitting armor she wore? Liara was not sure, but it did not matter anyway as she focused and pulled Wrex away before her mother could kill him. Then Shepard arrived, omniblade flashing for the Matriarch's neck.

That eerie blade stopped the slash with almost casual ease, the Spectre's pistol was wrenched aside by a biotic field, a cold, disdainful sneer on the asari's lips, before she reeled back as the human headbutted her. The reeling figure was thrown further back when Wrex and Garrus seemingly fired in the same instant, their shots collapsing her barrier and shields. Liara reached out, wreathed her mother into a biotic field, lifting her high, prepared to slam her into the ground - then Benezia's whole body flashed blue, the pulse of power disrupted Liara's control, threw away both Shepard and Wrex, leaving the Matriarch hovering in the air. With a gesture, Benezia threw a singularity at Garrus, almost wrenching him out from cover, before Liara destabilised the singularity with a throw of her own.

"You will not hurt my friends, Mother." She would not recognize her sound later. Power bloomed around her as her corona surged into existence, flaring brighter than ever before as she focused her will, throwing biotic fields as quickly as she could at her mother, alternating throws, singularities, attempts to slam her down, to destabilise her with a warp field, anything she could think of. Anything to keep her occupied, to deny her the few seconds she needed to lock them in a stasis field. She did not care that thin rivulets of blood started leaking from her nostrils, ignored the pain and burning of her nerves, the pounding ache in her head. She bared her teeth in a feral, blood-flecked snarl, and fought on.

Evidently, despite her centuries of experience and immense skill with her biotics, Benezia was not a true warrior; whatever combat instincts her long-ago huntress training and fights instilled in her were rustier than she thought - or perhaps the head-on confrontation with her daughter really did take so much of her attention. At any rate, she missed how Wrex and Shepard managed to pull themselves out from the wreckage of geth and Prothean machinery. She might have also missed the circle of hoarfrost spreading out from the Spectre, and the biotic aura building up around the warlord. What she could not miss was the old krogan slamming into her like a biotically-empowered freight train, the impact disrupting her control with explosive results that sent Benezia flying. Even before she hit the ground, Shepard was _moving_ , his eyes flaring with golden power, his omniblade unerringly aiming for the back of her head, as he somehow anticipated her path and aligned his weapon perfectly.

The shimmering omniblade bit deep into the strange metal that crept over the Matriarch's head, the armor preventing the blade from sinking deep into the asari's brain, or even to do more than prickle her skin. Benezia's eyes flared with green corpse-light and lightning arced from her, scorching the floor, scoring furrows into the armor of Shepard and Wrex, as the ancient asari stood tall, a wrathful goddess prepared to strike down the unworthy. She was wreathed in snaking tendrils of corpse-green energy, her whole body covered by the fluid, dark grey metal armor that seemed to suck in light. A shot from Garrus was melted in the air by a bolt of energy lashing out from her body. Liara threw a biotic field at her, the Matriarch not even bothering to dodge, the metallic suit rippling as water while it absorbed the dark energy. Wrex slammed into Benezia, making her sway, his shotgun discharging with a roar from point-blank range, droplets of the liquid armor spraying from the impact, and for a fraction of a second, blue skin flashed beneath the unnatural metal. The old warlord did not hesitate, and his free hand, wreathed in blue, slammed straight into the asari's ribs, breaking at least two of them, and sent her tottering back.

The krogan followed her, ignoring the savage energy lashing over his massive frame, pounding away at her armor, the impacts sending ripples racing on the grey surface. Garrus fired again, Benezia's head jerking to the side, flecks of armor splattering from the hit but the armor held. Liara's warp field hit her mother, the biotic field eating into the armor, sending rivulets of metal cascading down. Then the ancient asari shrieked, the sound carrying metallic, machinelike undertones, knifing into the mind of all present. The still-standing quarians fell to their knees, several of them jerking and spasming as if in seizures. Garrus and Liara both swayed, clapping hands to their ears even over the audio filters of their helmets. Wrex roared and struck again and again, despite tendrils of lightning snaking their way all over his body, melting furrows into his armor, boiling away flesh and sinew, before a pulse of green-tinged biotic power flung him away.

Benezia rose into the air once more, her face twisted into a savage snarl, energy pooling in her eyes, flaring in her corona in preparation for scouring the vault clean of her attackers. A flash of movement drew Liara's gaze to the side, and her eyes widened. Shepard was standing tall, darkness and insane colors flickering and flitting over his frame as he raised a hand, the very air seeming to burn as he traced a symbol before him, and the young asari felt it searing into her soul. Then the Spectre spoke, his voice a gurgling, drowning, insane sound that bypassed their ears and echoed in their minds. Liara saw blood streaming from his eyes, something spattering the inside of his helmet as he barked those inhuman syllables that made reality itself ripple and clawed at the sanity of those who heard them.

The Matriarch convulsed, fell to the ground, violently spasming, coughing, as the armor drew away from her mouth and she vomited forth a torrent of brackish, foul-smelling fluid - and then a spark of the green lightning touched the rapidly growing puddle of foulness beneath her heaving form. The green fire ignited the vile stuff Benezia was still coughing up, and turned her into a pillar of burning agony denied even the possibility of howling out her agony as her body and the very source of her new powers turned against her.

Shepard fell to his knees with a crash, panting as he wrenched the helmet from his head and spat bloody phlegm on the ground. Liara was torn for a moment, before she stepped to his side, reaching out to help him up. She saw his eyes focusing behind her then go wide, and he tackled her to the ground as a flame-wreathed hand of Benezia gestured, and a singularity spun into being directly over the matriarch, the miniature black hole snuffing out most of the flames, and the ancient asari gazed at them, her eyes the same blue color as Liara's own as her mouth formed the words, the question she no longer had the lungs to utter aloud, and Liara nodded, her hand gripping Shepard's fingers tight as the eyes of the two asari swirled void-black for an eternal moment. Benezia suddenly wrenched her head back, the burnt remnants of the grey armor again creeping up to engulf her face - then a krogan shotgun boomed, and it was over.


	18. Chapter 13

**Citadel, Widow system**

For all the warnings, preparations, and the raised alertness levels, the defenders were still caught off guard. In hindsight, there were recriminations, investigations and flinging of accusations, but in reality, no-one could have imagined the attack would start like this. Admirals Vipsania and Lidanya put their ships in position to defend against anything that came through the Widow relay, C-Sec tactical teams were on high alert, reinforced by Blackwatch, Serrice Guard, STG, and N-level strike teams. The traditionally shady districts of the vast station were heavily patrolled in case Saren attempted to smuggle geth onboard similar to what he pulled on Noveria. Traffic control, especially the relay network oversight was paying much closer attention to ship movements, and the patrol craft boarded all vessels that were found to be even the least bit suspicious - or had too clean or too new records. Sure, the increase in paranoia was causing mutterings, but with the leaked hints and evidence of a geth offensive, the popular opinion on the station was that the new measures, while certainly heavy-handed, were unfortunately warranted.

Even so, Jondum Bau could not stop fretting. He knew, he felt that they were missing something, and that it would cost them dearly. He paced in the conference room, occasionally glaring at the screens showing various feeds from the Citadel and its defense forces, or his two subordinates who were currently brainstorming about likely scenarios for Saren's attack routes and methods. The salarian Spectre brought up his omnitool to check in with the Executor, when the Relay Memorial lit up, its core starting to spin. Surprise, dread, and recognition flashed across the minds of the three agents, and as the first group of geth materialized from the blinding flash of a relay transition, a sweep of Bau's omnitool sent all alarms in the Citadel howling.

For a significant number of on-board defenders, the commendably swift action came too late. Explosions bloomed in several strategic locations, depriving C-Sec of landing pads, communications relays, personnel. Asari huntresses, acolytes and adherents to a corrupted Matriarch turned their biotics and weapons against those in their vicinity - and Bau cursed as their obvious mistake manifested itself. Still, he was the ranking Spectre. Recriminations and self-flagellation could wait, he had a duty. The salarian's omnitool lit up, fingers hammering instructions with quick precision, falling back on recently-established tertiary channels as he found the usual primaries (even the dedicated Spectre channels) jammed.

"Tela, get the Council off the station and into safety; do not let them get out of your sight." The asari nodded, and Bau went on. "Nihlus, find the Blackwatch commander and hold the Council Chambers. If Saren's not heading there, you are free to operate as you see fit." The turian acknowledged with a nod, then the trio were in the lobby - coming face to face with a dozen asari and twice that many geth Juggernauts and Destroyers headed by a grayish-green Prime.

With a shriek of rage and the boom of displaced air, Tela charged into them, the biotic explosion pulverizing two of the huntresses, the Spectre's first shot turned the head of a third into fragments of bone and brain matter. Thrusters flared as Nihlus' jump pack came alive, the turian weaving through the barrage of bullets and energy discharges sent his way, his rifle punching holes through a Juggernaut's armor. Bau's handcannon tore a hole into the Prime's chest, the salarian evading the mech's shots with boneless grace and fluidity, his omnitool sent an overload charge into a Juggernaut attempting to crush him flat. The geth's shields went down, and Nihlus immediately sent a bullet into its head. Tela vanished into a blur of blue light, her charge sending the Prime stumbling, the mech's barrier dissipating with a shower of sparks - and the asari Spectre, her face a mask of cold fury, punched a biotic-wreathed fist deep into the chest of the Prime unit, the mech practically disintegrating from the force of the blow.

Still facing half dozen commandos and roughly fifteen geth units, Bau didn't hesitate.

"You two have your orders. Go!"

The roar of thrusters pushed to their limits and the sonic boom of a biotic charge were the only answers. The salarian Spectre turned towards his assailants, and permitted himself a small grin, then he launched himself at them. He evaded strikes and shots with precise grace and snake-like swiftness, his whole body weaving an almost hypnotic dance of death, killing or maiming with every blow or shot he dealt. His omnitool spat overload charges and plasma bursts as fast as it could, his sidearm spat high-caliber bullet comparable to a krogan shotgun, his veins and nerves burned with the hyperawareness and speed of combat stims flooding his system. About two minutes later, he was panting as he stood amidst the carnage, before he set off towards the Citadel Traffic Control.

* * *

 **Citadel Station**

Others were not so fortunate or skilled as them. At the C-Sec headquarters, a long-serving asari member released a virus into their network that would fuse the armory doors shut, close the blast doors, and fry the sensor grid. Her first task complete, she walked to the locker room during shift change - and with an empty, eerie smile, used her biotics to trigger the bomb she had been implanted with. There were few survivors.

On the Presidium, near the Relay Monument, an unlucky C-Sec patrol was practically at ground zero for the invading geth, and the corpse-green lightning from the geth weaponry reduced them to bloody smears on the floor.

On board the _Destiny Ascension_ , Admiral Lidanya's security forces battled desperately against a small but dedicated group of huntresses who were fortunately eliminated before they could send the drive core into meltdown. Similar skirmishes flared up on several other cruisers of her fleet, mostly with the same results; the saboteurs only managed to cripple two of her ships.

At the Citadel Traffic Control, a turian administrator set the relay usage alarms to silent, before releasing a full-energy overload charge into the face of his coworker, frying the man's nerves. He then attempted to vector a number of repair and supply ships on collision course; fortunately the C-Sec personnel who were on guard duty managed to shoot him dead.

C-Sec units patrolling the Lower Wards faced a rioting mob of crazed human, asari, and turian cultists ranting about the end of the world, and were forced to open fire.

At the Embassy Wing, the human special forces were bogged down into a firefight with a trio of geth Colossi supported by hundreds of smaller platforms; they were holding back the mechs but were pinned down.

Standard military and emergency communications were a jumble of jamming, distortion, and urgent requests for assistance and direction. The Relay Monument was spinning constantly, more and more geth emerging from transition, marching off with mechanical precision towards already-identified points of resistance.

Aboard the _Stalwart_ , Admiral Vipsania barked commands to her subordinates and crew, pulling her ships away from a helium tanker whose drive core was showing signs of a critical meltdown.

The furious Tela Vasir, her armor a dented, broken, blood-and-fluid-drenched mess, her shotgun's ammo block almost empty, managed to reach the Councilors before Saren's agents could (leaving the remains of said assassins all over the access corridor), and set off towards the Destiny Ascension on Valern's private shuttle.

A battered, bruised Nihlus and his Blackwatch team were slowly being forced back towards the Council Tower, as Saren personally led his forces against them, the firefight turning the area into a pockmarked hellhole of bullets, energy beams, blood and pieces of geth platforms.

Saren's mandibles flared in a savage, eager grin as he felt the resistance faltering in the face of his overwhelming first strike. He briefly closed his eyes, his mind racing to send out a signal, a message using the implants Sovereign has seen fit to gift him with.

Beyond the war-torn Citadel, in the cold void, the Widow Relay lit up like a baleful eye, and with the pseudo-motion of the relay jump, the geth armada, spearheaded by Sovereign itself, jumped in-system.

* * *

 **Citadel, nearspace**

Inside the Council Chambers, long-dormant systems awoke as Sovereign emerged from the mass relay, and sent the activation signal. The Citadel very slowly started to reorient itself, its arms opening with stately grace to their furthest width. The black dreadnought headed directly for the center of the station, its progress slow but inexorable as geth ships swarmed around it, moving onto firing positions - then as one, the ships of the geth armada opened fire on the defenders.

On the flag bridge of the _Stalwart_ , Admiral Vipsania could not suppress a grimace as she saw the updates on the tactical plot as her flagship shuddered from the geth barrage, and flames engulfed several of her already-damaged frigates and cruisers. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes as her mind raced to plan and find a solution. Her mandibles flared in a furious snarl as she issued new orders for her still-battered fleet and pushed her own feelings deep down her soul. She could not afford them, not now. At her command, the Seventh Fleet locked in their targets, then vanished into FTL, dropping out within knife range of the incoming geth vessels, immediately firing. Explosions blossomed in the cold void as ships crashed into each other due to miscalculated jumps, others blew up from direct hits or were sliced apart by full-powered laser arrays. She knew that her people could not endure long, and had little hope of stopping Sovereign's advance, but they only needed a minute or two, for Lidanya's fleet to arrive and Hackett's ships to emerge from the Widow Relay.

Her stomach dropped as an alert flashed on her console, signalling the relay going dormant, the control signal apparently having been sent by the Reaper, and strong enough to override the Citadel Control signal; or perhaps someone managed to switch that off. Vipsania cursed herself for not considering this possibility more seriously, for ranking the possibility as acceptable risk - then she steeled herself, standing tall, and at her command, the ECM suites of the Seventh Fleet went online at full power, the concentrated electronic noise enough to disrupt even Sovereign's control signal. The turian jamming was enough to stop the Citadel's rotation, but the geth retaliation took an even greater toll than she feared; still, Vipsania's people were turians, they knew their duty, and performed it with peerless discipline and consummate skill. Even as the _Stalwart_ trembled under her again and again, the turian admiral felt a fierce pride towards her crew - and she knew that every moment they held on brought at least the asari ships closer.

* * *

The _Destiny Ascension_ 's flag bridge was the picture of controlled chaos, as Admiral Lidanya and her staff struggled to coordinate the embattled asari task force to provide support for the Seventh Fleet. The matriarch glared at her tactical plot, forcing herself to keep pace with the mounting losses of the turians, the fact that the small task force of Commodore Anderson was already heading towards the attackers while her own ships were left behind, thanks to Goddess-damned saboteurs. And if that was not enough, she had to pick up those idiots from the Council. What was that insane Spectre thinking? Did those politicians hope that she would take her flagship and run? Admittedly, she could see scenarios where that would have been her selected course, but not here and now, and not just because the relay has been shut down. No, Lidanya figured if they did not stop Saren, Sovereign and their geth cronies here, there was precious little point in running.

At least Vasir had enough sense to keep the Councilors from interfering, having confined them to an out-of-the-way suite that was close enough to the hangar deck. The asari admiral checked her plot again as the flagship's sensors displayed the huge ECM spike from Vipsania's ships, and the almost immediately launched salvo from Anderson's ships, all aimed at Sovereign. Howling, giggling tentacles of unlight whipped and clawed at the black hull of the Reaper, carving furrows of gray screams into it before the corpse-green lightning of Sovereign's defenses erased them from existence, and Lidanya cursed as the wounds torn into the behemoth's hide closed up, the black ship never altering course or speed, heading inexorably for the Citadel.

The admiral's fingers clenched on the armrests as her mind raced, calculating, assessing. Her face became an ancient burial mask as she nodded to herself, confirming that her ship was in proper position. With slightly trembling fingers, she entered the targeting coordinates, the system accepting her biometric identification. A quick command of hers sent a warning over the tactical net, and she hoped that it was received and heeded despite the blanket of electronic noise and garbage data filling the void. A last check brought a vicious snarl on her face, and she slammed her fist on the control panel. The lights of the ship dimmed, flickered as the power draw spiked.

Motes of scintillating light started coalescing in the vast open chamber of the _Destiny Ascension_ 's main gun. The dust of dreams, shards of nightmares, flares of passion merged with the screams of dead and dying, the pain of wounds, guilt of survival, fierce determination, joy of battle, terror, rage, awe - all that and more became encapsulated in those swirling points of impossible colors. The black void brightened, went taut, reality itself straining as the ancient mechanism hummed ever stronger, building to a frenetic crescendo of insane unreality, a miniature star awakening to life in the darkness. Aboard the hundreds of vessels and the immense mass of the Citadel itself, thousands of asari, dozens of humans, a handful of krogan and turians seized for a heartbeat, blood running from their eyes, ears, and mouths as the light about to be born uncaringly tore off fragments of their soul, with at times disastrous, explosive consequences - and those dying embers were simply greedily absorbed into the emerging vortex of unnameable colors.

The scintillating, growing ball of light pulsed with the heartbeat of imagination, of unreal potential, its tendrils of ethereal claws ripping open the taut, thin veil of material reality, and then the impossible beam of incandescent light and power was born with a howl echoing in the mind of all sensitives present in the Widow system and beyond; then the swirling, pulsing, immaterial beam was racing out towards the solid void-black shape of Sovereign, and the physical, sane reality of the materium wept and warped in its wake.

The Reaper sensed the energy buildup, realized the source and direction of the powerful beam of energy - and that realization, that memory threw its cold, machine-like precision into a loop, as it struggled to understand, to ascertain that this was not a time-eaten, half-forgotten memory but an actual, clear and present danger. Within the tomb-deep mind of the ancient being, a tremor of unfamiliar, forgotten emotion spread wings for an aeons-long second, rendering the Reaper unable to evade, to pit its formidable defenses against the impossible attack. How could these insignificant worms have found a way around his brother's safety measures? Had he deliberately sabotaged them, so he would get damaged, hurt? Did he want to usurp the Harvest for himself, to break their pact that stood since time immemorial?

The beam of unreality hit the center of Sovereign's hull, and a legion of souls screamed in discordant agony and ecstatic freedom as they burned, the ancient dreadnought reeling from the blow, power, knowledge and sentience bleeding away from the wound it was dealt, its howl of pain echoing beyond the boundaries of the four-dimensional space.

On board of a slender vessel in the dark, interstellar void, a grim-faced professor allowed himself a small smile. In an ageless city of shadows, lies and treachery, a fair maiden shared a satisfied nod with a masked jester, before the two joined their brothers and sisters. Tremors shook the Noctis research facility on Mars, as if a sleeper spasmed from the shared pain. Beyond the baleful light of the Omega-4 Relay, warnings flashed in the depths of an ancient station, its inhabitants swarming to wakefulness. In the crushing oceanic depths of the geothermal vents of a distant world, a spark of grim, vindictive satisfaction ignited. On board the Citadel, Saren swayed drunkenly, roaring in pain, the geth on the station losing coordination for several seconds. In the starless void of the Outer Dark, far above the galactic plane, Tsara'noga stirred as the pain and loss jolted it closer to awakening, six baleful eyes illuminating the darkness as the Harbinger of its Wrath.

For a few crucial seconds, Sovereign struggled to rebalance its internal systems, to enact vengeance upon the pitiful worms that dared to use a bastardized version of those long-destroyed star forts; crimson light and energy pooled at the firing chamber of its main gun, ready to fire and slice apart the foe who wounded it. Then another salvo arrived from the turian and human ships, and this time, there was no defense to stand in the way of those giggling vortices of tentacled light.

Gray pallor burrowed into the dreadnought's hull, turned the ancient vessel a brittle, insensate, decaying husk wherever it went. Lights and power flickered and died aboard the Reaper, corpse-green lightning struggling in vain against nameless colors of light. The void howled as the vortices of color imploded, tearing off chunks from Sovereign, leaving wounds seeping with glittering, unreal hues. The immense dreadnought's fury lashed out with beams of molten metal that sliced through shields and ships alike - yet it was unable to touch the real targets of its fury. Whenever it turned to fire on the larger human vessels or the Destiny Ascension, there was always a frigate or a cruiser (either turian or munitions-depleted human) that shielded Sovereign's targets from the Reaper's wrath, spending their lives to buy time for another salvo that would hopefully destroy it.

Sovereign's fury threatened to overwhelm its control, as it realized that without the geth, the defenders would have stood a good chance at crippling it, and even with the assistance of the inferior machines, its victory was nowhere near ensured. Concentrating its power on keeping the Widow Relay closed, the tendrils of its will reached out towards the chosen augmented vessel aboard the Citadel - and in the Council Tower, Saren Arterius howled, his implants flaring with coruscating energy as his master's immortal rage and ruthless determination poured into his soul and body.

Behind the frontlines on the Presidium, the Relay Monument, silent for some minutes now, once again flared with the energy of transition, and four shapes appeared, a protective biotic barrier sheltering them.

* * *

 **Citadel, Presidium**

Urdnot Wrex grinned savagely as he stood tall amidst the war-torn vista the Presidium had become. It seemed that their arrival has gone largely unnoticed, and the old warlord allowed himself a few moments to evaluate the situation - and to give his krannt some more time to get over the nauseating experience of the relay travel. Cracking his old bones, he considered for a moment, searching his long memory for something comparable, and nodded when he found nothing similar - and he was grateful for that in a way; the wrenching, tearing sensation was worse than the Butcher's driving by at least an order of magnitude. Good thing he did not eat much before the human suggested this insane idea. Though with the lack of biotics, he was sure that no further reinforcements were coming to their aid - but then again, Saren and his lackeys would also be trapped in here with them. The old warlord felt a fierce anticipation at facing the traitor Spectre - and tearing off his head for the atrocity he ordered on Virmire.

His experienced eyes took in the signs of desperate combat, the bullet- and scorch-marked path of a fighting withdrawal towards the Council Tower, the haphazard destruction of panic fire elsewhere. The bodies and geth wrecks littering the once-pristine metal floor of the station. His senses and sensors tracked for the distant sounds of combat, mind and instincts already at work laying out plans, actions, submitting to the red haze of rage at the sight of the small bodies strewn here and there. With age-old experience, Wrex suppressed the unseeing violence of the bloodrage, holding it back, priming it for later. A menacing, low growl slipped from his maw, the subsonics making even the Butcher eye him warily.

The young asari laid a blue hand on his shoulder, and the old krogan smirked appreciatively - her eyes and stance showed her fear, but despite that, she was willing and able to display her worry for her friend, a member of their krannt. He thought she would make a fine pair with the human - and the krogan chuckled lightly, the Spectre rolling his eyes at him while the human listened to his comm, with a hand to his earbud.

"So, Butcher - this does bring back memories, doesn't it?"

Shepard's eyes narrowed, the temperature dropping slightly, those gold flecks in his eyes flickering with baleful heat. Wrex held the stare, matching the human's will with his own.

"Torfan was a necessary lesson written in blood. This massacre" the Spectre gestures around "is none of that. Though admittedly, I would have done it similarly in Saren's place."

Garrus chimed in, his flanging voice carrying an undertone of revulsion and understanding.

"Worst thing is that I can understand Saren's reasoning for all this."

Wrex nodded at them, noting the asari's momentary confusion but decided not to enlighten her. She would learn on her own, with the occasional nudge when needed - and this was neither the time nor the place for that. Shepard apparently finished his conversation and started checking his pistols and gear with quick, thorough motions before he spoke.

"Comm net is a mess, but somehow Bau managed to get through. From what I could understand, he's at the Traffic Control, trying to reopen the Widow Relay. The Council's aboard one of the ships out there, likely on the Destiny Ascension. Saren's heading towards the Council Chambers, with Nihlus and his Blackwatch team doing their best to slow him down. If we are lucky and quick enough, we just might hit the bastard in the back while he's occupied with the turians."

With deliberate, menacing slowness, Wrex turned towards the Council Tower.

"Are you three coming, or what?"

The comment did as intended. Liara blushed lightly, before joining him, blue-white flames of biotic energy snaking their way along her arms and shoulders. Garrus chuckled before checking his sniper rifle, gesturing towards a position from where he could cover them on the approach. Shepard narrowed his eyes, then nodded with a fierce grin.

"Try to keep up, old turtle."

Before even finishing that sentence, the Spectre was off, running towards the tower with full speed. Wrex nudged the young asari.

"See, kid, that's again krogan-style courting. He's sweet on you, I can tell."

With a deep, rumbling laughter and the boom of displaced air, the old warlord joined Shepard's charge, trusting Garrus to pick off any dangers the two of them were unaware of - and in the trailing Liara to shield them from whatever got past the turian and remained unspotted by the duo.

* * *

Garrus bit back a curse when the two bloodthirsty lunatics raced off well before he could reach his selected position. His first shot, fired while running, missed, and the geth Destroyer only staggered with a sparking, half-torn arm instead of a headshot. Still, at least he got the thing's attention, and with a desperate leap, managed to get behind some half-melted mound of debris to avoid the green energy beam heading towards him. With a roll, he came up in a firing position, his second shot tearing off the head of the mech.

He sprinted on, grumbling about the inaccuracy and poor marksmanship while he fired, with a few choice remarks about insane humans and typical krogan - which were only answered by booming laughter. Admittedly, the two maniacs were quite impressive, and for a long moment, Garrus was mesmerized by the carnage the krogan and the human were leaving in their wake - and even more impressive was the effortless, almost preternatural coordination between them. Never mind their stupid recklessness, the two were simply dancing around their enemies, never standing still, always moving in perfect harmony, covering and supporting each other as needed. If he hadn't known otherwise, he would have sworn there was years of close work involved in such coordination, yet here they were, proving him wrong.

He smirked before opening a comm channel while he sent a disruptor round into the geth Hunter trying to sneak behind Liara, collapsing the mech's stealth field, leaving it to the asari to crumple the thing with her biotics.

"Careful, Shepard - the way you and Wrex go on, Liara will get jealous."

The indignant, sputtering denial from the asari and the frustrated growl from Shepard were almost lost under the deep laughter of Wrex - before the roar of the krogan's shotgun suppressed it all. Garrus blink-clicked his kill-counter, and restarted his playlist as he sighted down his scope, before sending a bullet into the eye of an asari Huntress moving to flank the old warlord. He was aware that in all likelihood he'd miss the final confrontation with Saren, but he was a turian, and he would do his duty in ensuring that his friends and comrades reached there in one piece. A quick flick of his omnitool sent several small proximity charges into a pattern around him, to ensure that he'd not be disturbed. A check of his rifle's ammo block and heat sink resulted in a flaring grin that widened as his shot slammed into the head of a Prime, staggering the large mech, the distraction more than enough for Wrex to tear it apart.

"Come on, you walking flashlights, I can do this all day."

* * *

Liara was racing to keep up with Wrex and Shepard, flinging biotic fields with both hands, her heart beating wildly from sheer exhilaration and the tightly-suppressed terror she felt as the three of them were running after the architect of this massacre. The last message of her mother still seared fresh in her mind, the young asari bared her teeth in a savage snarl as she grabbed a geth Prime with her will, and clenched her fist. The biotic field wrapped around the mech obeyed her, and with a dulled implosion, the hulking thing was compressed to the size of a krogan head. With a small, vindictive smile on her face, she ran on, trying to keep Shepard and Wrex in her sight.

She did not care about the distant, pounding headache that seemed to be gathering momentum behind her eyes. She disregarded the burning, straining muscles of her body. She focused her determination and will, keeping the simple, short-term goals in mind; after they reached the Council Tower and put down Saren as insane beasts like him deserved, she could worry about the long-term consequences. If she and her friends lived long enough, that is.

Her blue eyes flashing with power and rage, she shouted as she sent a massive push ahead of her companions, the wave of biotic might smashing geth platforms, asari Huntresses and turian zealots into the wall of the tower. Before they could recover, a huge krogan slammed into them like a speeding freight conveyor, the explosion of the biotic charge scattering body parts and pieces everywhere. Those who escaped the warlord's wrath did not survive much longer, as Shepard reached them a few heartbeats later.

Panting, tired, but with a fierce satisfaction beating in her heart, Liara followed Wrex and Shepard as the trio stepped into one of the elevators to head up towards the Council Chambers. With a quick hack, the Spectre overrode the security settings, sending them upwards much faster than usual.

* * *

The elevator lurched to a sudden stop, and Liara tottered off-balance, before Shepard steadied her. The Spectre quickly went to work at the control panel, his omnitool flashing as he tried to restart their ascent. Wrex was looking outside, towards the magnificent view of the Widow system - and the young asari took a step back to nudge Shepard as she realized what held the krogan's attention.

"I'm busy, T'Soni, give me a minute."

"You might want to look anyway, Shepard. This is not something you see every day." There was an undertone in the old warlord's voice that Liara could not exactly place. Worry? Awe? Fear? She certainly knew which emotion was the strongest in herself.

The Spectre turned towards the viewport, and his eyes widened as he spat a curse in an unfamiliar language.

They could see the black ship closing rapidly, unheeding of the explosions blossoming over its hull. At least it was damaged by something, and Shepard's short, vindictive bark of laughter suggested the source of those gray furrows, though she could not see how the human weaponry could blast such a sizable hole in the Reaper's hull. But at that moment, such details were rather unimportant. The crucial issue was that Sovereign was approaching fast, unhindered - and the Citadel arms were closing slowly, obviously intent in shielding the massive starship from the concentrated fury of the Council fleets. From the brief explosions beyond the black behemoth, the battle was still very much ongoing. The Reaper closed, its arms spreading wide, the intent to land or dock with the tower unmistakable.

"Grab on to something!" Shepard followed his own advice, a hand going for the railing, the other to support Liara; just before the whole building shuddered as the massive mechanical monstrosity reached the tower, void-black metallic tendrils burrowing inside, as a clutch of baleful red eyes flashed triumphantly on the front section of the ship. They could all feel the thrumming energy cascading through the whole tower, sending sparks flying from consoles and access panels alike, fusing shut doors and hatches.

"Any bright ideas, Butcher? Maybe from your special bag of tricks?" The human shook his head, eyes narrowed as he thought. Liara shivered as the gold-flecked eyes flared with manic light.

"You'll love it, Wrex. Check your mag-boots and suit up. We are going outside."

Maybe even a short month ago, Liara would have protested the insane idea. She would have pointed out flaws, dangers, the recklessness, anything. Now, she just did as she was told without a word of complaint or hesitation. She did not miss the appreciative chuckle from Wrex, and she wasted an ineffective glare on him, their staredown only broken when Shepard shot out the viewing pane.

"Usually it'd be ladies first, but I think we will make an exception this time, T'Soni." With a grin, the Spectre deftly flung himself outside, and leaned back to give a hand. Liara took it, and Wrex followed a few moments later. After a short pause to orient themselves and get used to the new direction, the trio raced towards the summit, where Saren and Sovereign waited.

* * *

 **Citadel, nearspace**

Admiral Lidanya glared at her tactical plot, unheeding of the blood seeping from the cut on her scalp or her dislocated, perhaps broken arm - she was angry at herself, she should have foreseen that the mechanical bastards would not shy away from ramming and suicide runs. Her own side did not have a monopoly on insane, unorthodox tactics. At least her security teams managed to hunt down all boarders before they could do more than damage a few point-defense arrays and sensor repeaters. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that the assistance of that damn Spectre was rather vital in that quick, brutal fight - Vasir fought like a woman possessed, her fury easily matching that of the combat Matriarchs of old. And she made it look disturbingly good…

The admiral shook off the momentary lapse, and focused once again on the battlefield. The picture was grim, even though her fleet had managed to link up with the remnants of Vipsania's and Anderson's ships, and the combined might of the Council armada was more than a match for the geth, especially without their Reaper flagship. If this were a conventional engagement, she felt certain they'd be victorious in an hour or so - but this battle was anything but conventional, and the fact that Sovereign eluded them and was safely hidden within the closed Citadel rankled her. At least the behemoth's absence allowed their own comm signals to punch through the geth interference.

"Admiral, signal from the Citadel Traffic Control!"

"Put it on my screen, and patch in Vipsania and Anderson as well."

A disheveled salarian appeared in her view, bearing obvious marks from intense fighting - and the Spectre insignia. More than that, Lidanya knew this particular salarian.

"Matriarch, greetings. Traffic Control finally secure. Attempting to unlock the Widow relay. So far, no success."

"What about the Citadel arms? Any chance of reopening them?"

"Negative. Spectre Kryik's last report indicated that he was in heavy firefight against Saren within the Council Chambers; we currently have not enough assets for a breakthrough." The salarian blinked, exhaled. "Spectre Shepard also made it to the Citadel, following Saren's forces - currently he and his team are on their way to the Tower. Still, their chances are not good, they will be heavily outnumbered despite the efforts of Spectre Kryik and his team."

Lidanya bit back a curse, and caught Anderson's wince from the corner of her eye. Vipsania just nodded, seeming to age decades. Bau continued.

"Do you have the Council members on board, Admiral?" At her nod, some of the stiffness fell away from the salarian Spectre. "Good. That makes the following much easier."

Something in his tone set the asari on edge, and she saw both Anderson and Vipsania stiffen in anticipation and dread - just like she herself. The Spectre continued, his voice cold, distant, toneless.

"If the situation on board the Citadel does not change within the next thirty minutes or you detect any new signal from Sovereign, you are ordered to open fire on the Citadel station itself. Blow away an arm, or destroy the whole station if needed, but do not allow Sovereign to succeed."

Matriarch Lidanya felt herself shiver and her blood drained from her face. Her mind recoiled from the possibility - yet centuries spent as a commander prevented the instinctual outcry, forced her to evaluate the salarian's command objectively. She closed her eyes for a moment, not seeing an alternative. A quick check of her fellow commanders showed that they too hated this idea, but neither of them voiced any opposition. They did not see any other solution, either.

Lidanya saluted the Spectre. Bau returned it, then signed off.

"Admiral, I can take command of the bombardment fleet if you wish." Vipsania's voice was devoid of emotion, her stance stiff and erect as she spoke. Anderson closed his mouth, obviously preempted by the turian. Lidanya smiled at them, before shaking her head.

"My fleet, my responsibility."

With a heavy heart, the admiral turned her attention back to the battle at hand, directing her forces to maneuver into bombardment positions, detailing fleet elements under Admiral Vipsania to batter the remaining geth ships into oblivion, while Commodore Anderson's few remaining vessels took up position close to the **Destiny Ascension** , their precious few remaining bombardment shells aimed at the Citadel.

Unnoticed in all the commotion and chaos of the still-raging fight, the Conduit once again stutters into life, the hesitant, erratic pulsing slowly straightening into the familiar rhythm of an incoming mass relay translation; the speed and energy spike indicating the largest transition handled by the Prothean relay so far.

* * *

 **Citadel, Council Tower**

Urdnot Wrex was smiling slightly, and Liara considered the serene expression as much more disturbing and terrifying than the bloodthirsty howling of the cloned abominations or the unfeeling precision of the geth that sought to bar their way. She knew that under the tight control, a tsunami of wrath was slowly building up, every moment threatening to rupture the dam of the old warlord's will. And while beneficial to them, she did not particularly want to experience what Wrex unleashed would be like. For a moment, she considered mentioning her worries to Shepard on a private channel, but she discarded that idea immediately - if she was aware of the situation, then she could be sure that the Spectre had known much earlier; and if he did not take action, then she would trust him to know what's best. After all, for all their differences in age and race, she considered Wrex and Shepard disturbingly similar in many, many ways.

She once again focused ahead, the harrowing climb taxing her will and body alike. She knew that no matter how long she lived, the ascent would haunt her nightmares. The geth would have been bad enough, especially since they seemed to become better coordinated, quicker and more precise than even on Virmire and Ilos. Still, Saren's nightmarish krogan were much, much worse, and not just because of the effect they had on Wrex. No, she was constantly terrified that her magboots would fail when one of those got her with a lift field, or that she would be too slow to notice them before their biotics tore her and her friends from the surface of the Tower, sending them all over to crash into the wards. Liara shuddered at the thought. She startled when a hand touched her shoulder, Shepard's gaze boring into hers, worry, determination, and something she did not dare think about mixing in those gold-flecked brown eyes.

"Wrex found a maintenance hatch, he's opening it now. We are going inside." The Spectre's lips peeled back, his teeth flashed in a bloodthirsty, savage smile. "Saren's not far ahead, and is still tied up with Nihlus and his team." She could hear the honest respect in his voice as he went on. "Crazy turian managed to stay alive and keep the barefaced bastard from his goal."

She leaned her head to the side, cheek against the hand on her shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment and enjoying the warmth. Just for a few short heartbeats, then her eyes snapped open, and she looked directly into the Spectre's eyes, before giving a determined nod.

In a few minutes more, she and her friends would take Saren to task for what he's done - to Benezia, to the krogans, to humanity; and for what he planned to do to the whole galaxy. Liara felt her biotics surging, as if infected by her own grim anticipation. Without further hesitation, she followed Wrex and Shepard into the access tunnel, focusing her mind on the task ahead.

* * *

The access corridor was a bullet-riddled, smoking hellscape, the walls scorched with plasma, tell-tale signs of warping biotic fields, electric discharges. Inactive geth platforms were heaped at and into makeshift barricades, along with torn and partially-consumed turians bearing C-Sec and Blackwatch insignia. Here and there, a few asari huntresses are also visible - more mindwiped acolytes of that insane Matriarch of theirs. Eyes narrowed in concentration, the mind of Warlord Urdnot Wrex reconstructed the fighting withdrawal of the defenders step by step, tracking for the tell-tale signs of his distorted, enslaved kin. Sure enough, while there were no krogan bodies, he could discern where their tainted blood spattered over the walls or joined in the pools on the floor. His clear focus wavered for a moment as rage almost overwhelmed reason.

The three of them jogged towards the Council Chambers, from where the gunfire, explosions, screams and geth chittering provided a good indication on the still-ongoing fight. He felt grudging respect towards those Blackwatch bastards - sure, their kind helped neuter his people, but they were tough, worthy enemies. Kind of like the Butcher and his ilk, though the newcomers were insane even by krogan standards, especially since they allowed their prized elites to willingly mess with those who dwelt beyond.

With a huff, Wrex set aside his musings. There would be more than enough time to kill Shepard if he went fully insane and turned on him and his people - for now, he had to deal with a traitor Spectre, and the moment of reckoning was drawing close.

For a moment, the trio paused at the wrecked door leading to the audience chamber, the warlord and the Spectre quickly evaluating the situation, grimly noting how the turian defenders were on the verge of being overwhelmed by the half dozen krogan monstrosities, supported by perhaps ten times as many larger geth platforms.

Wrex looked at his krannt. The asari's eyes were wide, her fear obvious - but so was the determination. She would not crack, not now; she'd die before letting them down and allowing her mother's killer get away. The Butcher returned his measuring gaze with one of his own, the human's lips peeling back in an ugly, savage grin that was eerily familiar to the warlord.

"Let's not keep count, old turtle. If you want his hide, it's yours."

The old krogan nodded, before taking another quick look into the chamber, his mind calculating distances, angles, tracking for the traitor Spectre. A metallic blur with glowing eyes at the edge of his vision made him turn, and Saren was in his sights, slinking from the smoke and mayhem towards the control panels on the podium.

His vision became a tunnel of blue light, time seemed to slow to an infinitesimal crawl as always. When his twin hearts beat their next in that rising crescendo heralding the incoming eruption of volcanic wrath, he was already on the traitor, a fist wreathed in warping biotic energy sent droplets of metal, carapace, bone and blood spattering from the turian, the other hand discharging his oversized shotgun into Saren's face point-blank. The bastard managed to pull his head away enough so it only got singed, tried to open the distance. Wrex slammed the butt of his rifle into the turian's face, heard plates buckle and crack under the biotically-enhanced blow. Something slammed into his stomach, burning, flaying, drilling a hole through him. He slammed his plated forehead into Saren's face, the sheer force sending the turian reeling - before the krogan's empty hand latched on the turian's arm, and wrenched, the limb dislocating with a sickening, metallic crack.

Heat suffused his chest as a metallic blade extended from Saren's palm, missing his hearts by just a finger's width. A swift strike from his elbow managed to buckle the arm at the end of the blade, and the shotgun boomed again. Blood, bones, and metal sprayed as the Spectre howled, the krogan's shot almost tearing off the arm. Distantly Wrex was aware that Shepard was barely two-thirds of the way towards them, and that Liara was even farther away, but he did not care. His knee slammed into the traitor's guts, the force lifting the turian, who managed to roll with the blow, and slammed his shoulder into the krogan's chestplate - and Wrex felt a spike of grudging respect as he heard the joint pop back into place.

A kick to his quad would have buckled lesser krogan, but the old warlord barely reacted at all, apart from slamming his fist into Saren's guts once again, the impact sending the turian flying. His world once again turned to a blue-white tunnel of biotic fire, and Wrex was off in pursuit, still with that small smile on his face, still completely silent, lacking all his usual blustering laughter and roaring warcries - and he himself was not even aware of this.

* * *

 **Citadel, nearspace**

Admiral Vipsania felt the cold dread mixed with desperate fury welling up within, as her almost-crippled flagship turned slowly back towards the Citadel, leaving the last remnants of the geth fleet as cored, broken hulls drifting harmlessly in space. She and her people, the entire defensive fleet of the Citadel paid an enormous price to wrest this victory from the machines - and as things stood, their sacrifices would be mostly in vain. And the thought that one of her own people, and Saren no less was responsible made her want to vomit, curse, and tear apart someone. And when she considered how quickly Bau made his decision, for a moment she did not know which of the two was more dangerous, more insane. At any rate, she decided she would view Spectres much, much more carefully in the future - and she would bet on not being the only one to do so.

Her eyes drifted back towards her plot, the countdown to that impending, massive atrocity they were about to commit. Something caught her attention on the sensor view. A reading that she was no longer hoping for - but then her eyes narrowed. in anger. The direction was wrong. Apparently, reinforcements were indeed incoming, but not for them. Saren's geth allies on Ilos likely overwhelmed the quarians there, and fixed whatever Shepard did to mess with the relay. Still, she thought with a grim, bitter chuckle, at least more of the metallic bastards would perish when they bombarded the Citadel into oblivion.

And then her mandibles flared in a disbelieving expression as the Citadel arms started to open, the Widow Relay spinning up to receive incoming transit, and a transmission howled into all available channels, bearing the comm signifiers of the _SSV Normandy_.

"Comms, tell me that Anderson and Lidanya also getting this transmission!" She did not wait for the affirmative. "Tactical, prepare a burst transmission of the situation, estimation of forces and contingeny plan Epsilon - if it's Hackett's ships coming through the Widow Relay, I want him in the loop the moment he's here."

The bridge of the wounded, battered _Stalwart_ filled once again with hope that maybe, just maybe, they could win this battle.

The vessels of the Alliance Fifth Fleet swarmed through the Widow Relay, dispersing almost immediately according to pre-arranged formations that rapidly shifted once Admiral Hackett received the situation update from the defenders. At his command, the human ships lit up their drives, and raced at flank speed for the opening arms of the Citadel, where a small, nimble vessel was dancing around the still-quiescent form of Sovereign, the Reaper squatting over the Council Tower like a malevolent insect. Beams of incandescent light tore into the metallic tendrils anchoring the ebony dreadnought to the station, and one by one, the tendrils snapped apart, the sliced ends whipping across space, battering the already-damaged tower or seeking the frigate.

The immense Reaper seemed to fall away slowly from its position, the cluster of eyes glaring a baleful red, the pulse of its wrath sent warnings shrieking across the ships of the Citadel defenders. Then the firing chambers at the end of Sovereign's metallic tentacles lit up with murderous fury, and thick red beams reached out to slice apart the incoming vessels, while howling, atonal shrieks of electronic garbage battered the sensors, blew out circuits, sought to rupture containment on drive cores, AI restraints, IFF systems.

Fifth Fleet answered with a triple-layered salvo of three hundred torpedoes, a full third of them carrying C-type warheads, the rest conventional payload, ECM and guidance packages. Sovereign's defenses managed to stop more than half of the salvo - but even so, almost seventy C-type shells tore into its hull, the shrieking, insanely giggling vortices of light burrowed deep into its superstructure, tearing out bulkheads, machinery, metal and souls in equal measure.

The void of the Widow System echoed with the mindless, furious howl of a once-prideful godling stripped of its invulnerability, those it considered mere gnats ripping away its very being, sending it on its way to oblivion. The rapidly-fading consciousness of Sovereign focused back towards his chosen puppet still on the Citadel. There was still a way for it to fulfill its task.

In the Council Chambers, the battered, bleeding wreck of a turian that was Saren Arterius opened its maw and screamed, a halo of coruscating energy lifting him in the air, his eyes igniting with corpse-green light.

* * *

 **Citadel, Council Chambers**

The turian hovering high in the air is burning away in front of their eyes, his flesh and organs cooking off as the corpse-green tendrils of energy snake all over his frame. Minuscule metallic beetles tear free from within the body of the traitor Spectre, swarming over its form, obscuring it from sight. Saren's limbs elongate, liquid metal covering his frame, mechanic, inhuman undertones echoing in his wordless, furious, pained howl.

The remaining defenders concentrate fire on the transforming creature, the bullets swallowed by the swarm without apparent effect. A dismissive, almost lazy flick of a taloned hand sends an eye-searing green lightning towards the cluster of Blackwatch, the energy burning a path in the metal floor. A handful of them don't manage to evade in time, and are flash-burnt to charred skeletons in an eyeblink. With a shriek of tearing metal and a wordless cry of hatred and fear, Liara's biotics flare as she tears off a massive door and throws it at the Saren-thing. The sheet of metal parts easily as the hovering monster lifts a bladed arm in its path, but at least it is distracted for a fraction of a second.

"Nihlus, get your people the fuck out of here!" The wounded turian Spectre hesitates for a second, and Shepard glares at him, his eyes pools of molten gold. "Move, you stubborn bird! We'll handle it!"

Hoarfrost spreads from the human, the temperature dropping sharply, their breaths pluming. As the turian survivors fall back, still firing in precise, controlled bursts and well-placed sniper rounds, the krogan warlord and human Spectre blur towards the Saren-thing. Liara races for cover, her biotics flaring as she hammers the monster with debris while trying to warp and melt a path through the swarm covering its metallic frame.

She is the farthest from the nightmarish shape, yet she's the one who spots it - both Shepard and Wrex seem to slow down to barely a crawl, while their enemy flickers with eye-searing quickness, his bladed appendages spearing through Liara's friends. She screams in denial, her corona ignites, and the whole chamber lights up with blue-white fire. A slash of her arm sends a biotic field severing the two blades, and before the two wounded could fall, her will reaches out, and yanks them back to her side, trying to be mindful of their wounds.

Human and krogan nod in respect towards her, his hand briefly squeezing her shoulder as she turns away to avoid seeing the idiots pulling out the cut blades from their wounds, the Spectre coughing blood as the medigel dispensers of his armor go to work, and even Wrex sways for a brief second as his secondary organs compensate for the damage done. The discarded metal blades dissolve into a pool that slowly starts inching towards the cruelly grinning figure of the Saren-thing. Shepard narrows his eyes at it, a quick shared glance with Wrex, the krogan stepping forward, his bulk shielding his companions - and Liara's eyes widen for a moment as the human's hands flash a mnemonic gesture at her, one that they had seen from Benezia several times. She swallows, and nods determinedly at the Spectre, the answering predatory smile sending her blood rushing.

Once again, the two warriors speed away, zig-zagging towards the hovering monster, but this time they don't seek to overwhelm in close combat. Wrex fires his shotgun, the impacts swallowed by the beetle swarm, yet each time there's a fraction of a second when that barrier weakens. The old warlord's other hand directs his biotics, alternating between warp fields and attempting to slam the avatar either to the ground or the ceiling. Shepard's heavy pistol fires in short bursts, disruptor ammo followed by incendiaries followed by AP rounds, while on his other hand the omnitool shines with malevolent orange light as it sends damping fields and overload charges at their enemy. Liara tenses, eyes narrowed, waiting for the right moment as she weaves and dodges from cover to cover, not standing still, not wanting to invite the monster's fire.

At an unspoken signal, perhaps sensed through an unnoticed bond from their melds, the young asari stands tall, her figure limned in blue-white fire, as her will slams into Saren, her whole biotic might focused on holding him still, pushing him outside the normal flow of time. The reaction is not what any of them expected. Biotic field strains against chronometric manipulation, the tapestry of spacetime screaming in pain as the two forces vie for dominance. For an eternal moment, there is no sound, no movement, no progression of time in the chamber, then a thunderous detonation flings everyone away from the center.

The smile on the old warlord's face widens a bit, becoming more predatory as he sees the thin tendrils of smoke rising from within the body of the avatar. Another heartbeat to take in the situation and to check on his krannt, then he is off once more into the blue-white haze of the biotic charge. He ignores the metallic scarabs flensing off layers from his armor and uncovered body parts, as his fist slams into the grinning skull-face of the Saren-thing, the strength of the blow enough to send droplets of the liquid metal spraying from the impact point. Gray talons grab and hold his wrist, locking him in place before he can dodge - not that he wanted to. After all, he has the traitor right where he wants it - and when the shotgun's muzzle stabs into the fracture still trailing smoke, the old warlord permits himself a snarl of vindictive rage. The gun roars, and fragments of metal explode from the avatar's back as the overcharged shot tears a hole in its body, sending it lurching away - but not before its fingers break the krogan's wrist and send him flying, his trajectory ending with a sharp crack and a low hiss of pain as he crashes into the wall.

Shepard closes with blinding speed, a trail of frost marking his path, his omniblade biting deep into the body of the former Spectre, droplets of superheated metal spraying from the cut, as the pistol in his other hand is slammed into a green-glowing eye and before the thing could recoil, the weapon discharges point-blank. The creature howls more in fury than in pain, its remaining eye flashing with baleful corpse-light as lightning wreathes its body, tearing into the attacking Spectre, sending armor systems haywire, setting muscles spasming. With an effort of will and drawing on his inner reserves, Shepard manages to fling himself to the side, the blade aimed at his heart only tearing into his side, blood streaming from the wound before he hisses in pain, as he feels something burrowing within, towards his heart. With an effort of will, he _moves_ , putting distance between himself and the Saren-thing, before he aims his omnitool at the wound, grits his teeth and sends an overload charge straight in.

The Spectre flashes back to Liara's side, a gesture of his sends Wrex into combat once more to hold back and distract the monster.

"Can you try the stasis once more?" The asari's face is a mask of blood. Some kind of feedback effect, most likely - he would have to care, he should care, but at the same time, he cannot afford it. Dazed blue eyes try to focus, sparks of biotic power flicker over her form before dissipating harmlessly, and she slumps, panting, trying to apologize. He flashes her a smile, and stands, taking a deep breath, considering his options for a heartbeat. He closes his eyes, and when they open, they are once again pools of molten gold, radiating a cold, terrible power.

The N7 operative raises his hands, makes an intricate gesture, the very air burning with pale fire at his touch, the symbol lending power to his chanting. The unsane, inhuman syllables never meant for human use burn his throat, claw into his soul, he feels his hands and parts of his face going numb as blood vessels burst from the strain. The fabric of reality thins, sounds, colors, voices pale, become distant - only the echoing nonsensical words of Shepard are still clear. A second symbol flashes into being, power flooding the chamber from the cracks of unreality torn by the Spectre's voice. The Saren-thing howls as its metal body starts to burn with white-hot fire, the fury of the molten core of a planet more than a match for the hypertech alloy. Metal dribbles and evaporates in frothing strands or is cracked and buckled by the ever-increasing pressure holding down the avatar - yet it raises its hand, the one working eye flashing with terrible malice and a green lightning tears a furrow into the station's floor, boiling away metal, geth wreckage and turian corpses alike as it bears down on Shepard and Liara.

A shimmering, multi-layered biotic barrier stands in its way for an eternal moment, before it breaks under the brunt of the energy impacting its surface. Still, it does the job, and Urdnot Wrex is back to his krannt, shielding his comrades with his own body. Armor, flesh, and blood are boiled away with a hiss, and the old warlord snarls in pain.

Shepard cries out in a voice echoing with thunderous power, and an iridescent, multifaceted dome of fractured dimensions shield them from the renewed fire of the Saren-thing, the beam ricocheting within the endless maze of unreality. Wrex tilts his head to the side, before grunting in satisfaction, giving the operative a nod of respect. The effort of maintaining the two spells simultaneously drives the operative to his knees, and even with the sliver of concentration he can spare, he notices the spark of recognition on the crackling metallic visage of the Saren-Reaper. The corpse-green beam reaches out once again, a long, continuous streak of energy, and as soon as it touches the surface of the protective dome, the beam starts to oscillate somehow, its pulse and rhythm slowly matching the dance of the dimensional rips, and it slowly starts inching deeper, ever closer to the trio, the avatar grinning in mirthless triumph, its face slowly melting away.

The operative chants on, heedless of the pain, of the blood trickling from his mouth, pooling in his lungs, ignoring the blinding pangs of headache as the strain of the spell mounts - he focuses all his will on the Reaper's avatar, taking a vicious satisfaction that with each heartbeat, the malevolent sign burns away another chunk of it. Somewhere deep within his mind, Shepard runs the calculations, estimates time, distance, and comes to the grim conclusion that he will not be able to keep both spells going long enough to finish Saren - and he knows that as soon as he drops the shield, that monster will finish them off. Still, he does not see any other choice but to keep going and hope.

A moment of vertigo, of disorientation almost throws off the Spectre from his task. He does not feel the touch of blue fingers on his shoulder, but when the familiar presence enters his mindscape, lessening the strain, lending him further strength, he flashes a savage, predatory grin at the Saren-thing, his voice echoing in an ever-increasing crescendo of soul-tearing inhuman syllables older than time, and the avatar explodes into a shower of molten-hot droplets of metal that are crushed out of existence by the pressure of unreality. The cracked dome of iridescent facets disappears, the red-glowing, soul-searing sign fades from existence, and for a heartbeat, the operative involuntarily relaxes the barriers of his mind as his gaze locks with the swirling-black eyes of Liara.

"Get a room, you crazy kids." The old krogan chuckles, before stepping away to double-check on Saren's remains, not that he expects to find anything.

* * *

Out in the void, the broken, battered shell of Sovereign is still fighting, still reaping a bloody tally amongs the Citadel ships - two dozen cored, drifting, broken hulls a testament to its might. Still, as an unknown energy source surges in the Council Chambers, sending the sensor net insane with contradictory, impossible returns, the still-immense bulk of the damaged dreadnought goes still. Three admirals, a commodore, and a mere XO all give the same command simultaneously, and a barrage of mass accelerator fire inundates the insensate Reaper, the last torpedo of the _Normandy_ detonating deep within the carcass of the vessel, the explosion tearing apart the ship. The wreckage bombardment damages large areas of the Wards, a sizable piece hitting the Council Tower itself.

A brief, satisfied moment of relaxation, then the comm net is alive with Admiral Hackett's voice, directing ships to search and rescue operations, damage control, perimeter patrol - all the necessary tasks following a costly victory.


	19. Part I - Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The conference room of the _Destiny Ascension_ 's flag bridge has certainly seen better days, but Admiral Lidanya could not recall ever hosting such an eclectic yet powerful assembly of individuals, from such rather different backgrounds. Of course in the light of recent events, she considered a number of those present as definitely trustworthy people - and she could not suppress a small, satisfied smile as she glanced at where Hackett and Vipsania were chatting softly, with Anderson giving an occasional comment. Even the politician contingent was grudgingly tolerated - at the very least, the three Councilors did not interfere with her during the battle, and judging by their actions since then, they were unlikely to give her or her colleagues grief about the battle. She was not entirely sure why they had brought up the human ambassador from the Citadel, but she had her suspicions.

No, it was the other two groups she was apprehensive about. She suspected she would not be the only person from now on who would watch the Spectres very, very carefully - and there were four of them here, just now. Sure, Tela Vasir was certainly an important reason her ship survived the boarding attempt with comparatively light losses, but she would not forget Bau's cold order anytime soon. And while as a military officer she was used to the hard decisions, the sheer scale and quickness of the salarian's order took her aback. Nihlus Kryik, even shot up and wounded as he was, would probably be under intense scrutiny in the coming days - as a turian, a Spectre, and Saren's former protege, she was sure that a lot of people would not forgive him, even though according to the first available reports, he and his team played a key role in holding back Saren's assault. As for Shepard, well, he would be surely suspected because he sheltered Benezia's daughter, and unless Lidanya completely misread the young scientist, there was at least a one-sided attraction brewing between them. The admiral snorted, shook her head as her mind already flashed to the tabloid articles, faked videos and very likely baseless, tasteless speculations the media would come up with. Joy.

The cadre of people Shepard brought in were the other clutch she was unsure about. Benezia's daughter she did not really care about - unless she was a better actress than Sha'ira, there was no way she was complicit in the events. Unless she is indoctrinated, her mind whispered, and her lips thinned into a grim line. Now that was a worrying thought, and a nice source of nightmares and paranoia. Her gaze met with that of Wrex, and she allowed herself a small grin as she nodded at the old warlord. At least he was just like in old times, changing very little. A small, questioning gesture of hers towards Shepard and Liara was answered by a ghost of a grin and a mirthful twinkle in the krogan's eyes, and Lidanya nodded, satisfied. If Wrex did not see those two as a threat, then she would accept his decision. The young quarian sitting in the old warlord's shadow was clearly nervous, and the admiral could easily understand her.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Tevos, Valern and Sparatus share a glance, the two males nodding towards the asari, and Tevos cleared her throat, and the room went silent.

"In light of the recent events, I believe we need quick action to do some damage control." The glare the asari Councilor shot the chuckling Wrex was entirely ineffective.

"First off, in light of their efforts during the Saren Crisis" Lidanya saw both Vipsania and Nihlus wince at the naming, "the Council decided to offer a permanent seat to the Systems Alliance. Ambassador Udina, unless your government decides otherwise, we would consider you as the best representative." The politician's face was a curious mix of pride and worry, but before he could answer, Tevos went on. "We already have an endorsement from Spectre Shepard, so you might want to mention that as well in your report." Lidanya wasn't the only one who could not suppress a snicker at Udina's poleaxed look as he turned towards Shepard.

"What did you expect, Ambassador? You are already here, you know these people, you love politics, you have some spine and brains - why wouldn't I endorse your candidacy?" Shepard's voice was still raspy, the damage to his lungs and throat more severe than what could be fixed in a single hour. Udina blinked, swallowed, then nodded respectfully towards both the Spectre and Tevos.

"Pending on the approval from the Alliance, I'll accept the offer gladly."

The asari nodded, and went on.

"We also decided that we offer a seat to the Migrant Fleet as well," her raised hand shut off Tali's exuberant squeal "with a few stipulations. While your representative will get full voting rights, the seat is a temporary, five-year arrangement. After that, the Council will review if the conflict with the geth is closer to a final solution - and the five members will vote on finalizing the quarian membership depending on that progress."

Tali's mouthpiece glowed, but no understandable sounds came out other than some high-pitched wheezing gibbering. Wrex nudged her and sent Tevos a toothy smirk.

"I believe the kid accepts."

Tevos nodded with a small smile, before she looked at each of the people in the room, her whole presence subtly altered, conveying the gravitas and wisdom of a leader who guided her people through the turbulence of galactic politics for centuries.

"The other main issue with must address pertains to Sovereign and its origins." Again she raised a hand, forestalling and stopping angry protests and mutterings. "We will not deny that it represented a much different threat than the geth. We will not deny the possibility or the need to prepare should there be others like it, as we could infer from Spectre Shepard's report from the Virmire encounter. What we absolutely cannot afford, however, is for those information to became the official, public version."

"What?" Shepard's voice was tinged with disbelief, and he turned a betrayed, angry gaze at Udina, when the man chuckled, the sound bitter.

"Think, Shepard. How would the masses of people react to situations like a potential galactic destruction? Would you want to deal with that hysteria? The innumerable insane doomsday cults that would pop up within hours, days at best? The idiots who would welcome Sovereign's ilk with open arms, preaching about peaceful coexistence? The opportunists who would try to enjoy the chaos? The genuine turncoats, who would side with the Reapers, just to live for a bit longer?" The ambassador's voice was cold, bitter, his smile cynical. "Don't you think fringe elements in all governments would not try to use another crisis like this to their own short-term advantage? And that's not even going into indoctrination. If you want to spearhead the witchhunt that will surely follow that little tidbit going public, I can't really stop you."

The operative looked suddenly much older, fragile, as he nodded at Udina's words.

"Put like that, you are correct." His eyes flashed with an angry glow. "Does not mean I have to like it."

Tevos' voice was smooth, cool, but unyielding.

"None of us do, Spectre. That does not change the fact that Councilor Udina's assessment is entirely in line with our own reasoning."

Sparatus took over.

"The Council will start increasing military readiness across the board. With the Battle of the Citadel, I foresee no problem in getting appropriate funding from the members, as long as we frame it correctly and move quickly enough. Also " his eyes turned towards Bau, the salarian drawing himself up, returning the turian's gaze calmly "I want Spectre Bau to revise the status of our agents, and take the necessary steps to ensure that the Saren fiasco will not be repeated."

Valern.

"We will take steps to ensure that the various information brokers, including the Shadow Broker are kept in the dark as much as possible, with regards to the true nature of the threat posed by Sovereign." His gaze turned towards Wrex, the krogan's menacing smile chilling the air in the room. "I have no illusions about keeping the information away from the hands of the Broker in the long run, but even so, we will consider how best to convince him to play along. Unless he changes his established patterns radically, he would be amenable to ensuring the galactic status quo."

Tevos.

"A part of the military buildup, we would offer the krogans an associate status - if there was a unified krogan government." The diplomat permitted herself a grin as she took in the surprised, suspicious look on Wrex' face. "No, I am not joking. If a war is coming, the Council's expert in matters military advised that it would be foolish to discard the krogans due to regrettable past events."

The table warped and bent as the old warlord's fingers clutched it, his eyes narrowed, mind spinning as he tried to get his bearings, to convince himself that this offer was genuine. He took a deep breath, before glaring at Valern.

"That's going to be hard work, unless you give us what we need."

Valern closed his eyes for a brief second, sighed.

"Wrex, we can't just give you a cure for the genophage." The deep, reverberating snarl of the krogan did not perturb the salarian as the Councilor went on. "We don't have it and even if we did, I don't think your people would trust it, would they?" A grudging agreement, the threat of imminent violence lessened as Wrex glared at Valern. "What I am prepared to provide you is the resources for creating the cure. Funding, scientists, lab equipment. It would be only fair, wouldn't it, Spectre Urdnot?"

* * *

Shepard felt dead on his feet as he followed Hackett towards the flag bridge of the _Erebus_. He understood the need for the quick action and the whirlwind of directives, but this particular day was beginning to be just a little too much even for him.

"Apologies, Commander, but there are a few issues that need to be taken care of yesterday." A bitter, sardonic grin flashed across Hackett's craggy, scarred features. "And not just because our political masters want reassurances to feed their spindoctors."

The Spectre's eyes narrowed when they sat in the admiral's stateroom, and Hackett motioned for silence, before his omnitool lit up, tracking for listening or recording devices, setting up a monitoring program for electronic intrusion as he keyed in the privacy field of the cabin.

"Is the situation this bad, sir?"

The older man shrugged.

"I'm probably too paranoid, but since an agent from Director Bergman indicated that there was potential trouble within both the First and Second Fleet, I'd rather not take any chances."

Shepard nodded, sat in the indicated, rather comfortable chair. The display of the admiral's desk lit up, as Hackett continued.

"Considering the current situation, Vipsania, Lidanya, and I agree that Fifth Fleet will spearhead the upcoming offensive operations against the geth. Our aim is to secure forward bases and establish depots for the push into the Perseus Veil, to open a corridor to Rannoch for the quarian fleet. At least, that is the official version, and that's how I will present the deployment plans for both the Fleet Master and Parliament, if needed."

"And unofficially, sir?"

Hackett was silent for a moment, before he took a deep breath and continued.

"Unofficially, it will be mostly the same - one way or another, we have to end the geth threat permanently before another Sovereign comes along. And of course it will not hurt to gather a few favors and good will from the quarians, either." The admiral chuckled. "You know as well as I do that it's much better to have a modicum of truth in such cases."

Hackett typed a few commands, and the display changed.

"But just because we are focusing on the geth, we will not ignore the possible threat from the Reapers. There is already a team assembling for this effort, under the codename Task Force Aurora. I will detach the Normandy from the 69th Scouting Flotilla, and your priority will be to find and follow up upon xenoarcheological trails that might provide us insight into where exactly Saren found Sovereign." The older man flashed a wry grin at the Spectre. "I believe your current crew is quite well staffed in that regard, and it would be a rather difficult task to find someone else with Doctor T'Soni's expertise."

Shepard was quiet for a few moments, considering, thinking.

"Am I to consider the last bit an order, sir?" The question was asked in a detached, neutral tone, yet Hackett looked as if he bit into something sour, before speaking with obvious reluctance and faint distaste.

"I am not sure how long I can stall that particular order, Commander. It's not something I would ask for, but you are technically not serving under me." Hackett locked eyes with the operative. "Unless you actually want me to make it an order?" Shepard froze for a moment, then blinked and slowly shook his head. "Thought so."

The admiral reached into his desk, pulled out two tumblers and a flask. He offered one glass to Shepard, the operative accepting it with a nod.

"Stuff like this is why I don't envy you N7s." He grimaced. "There is one more appointment for you, Commander, a liaison from Task Force Aurora. She will be responsible for coordinating the efforts - well, at least once the rest of the scientists get here, and the Normandy's repaired enough to be combat-effective."

"How bad is it actually, sir? I only had time for a brief check, and neither Pressly nor Adams were exactly forthcoming in the summaries they provided."

"She's in bad shape, Shepard. The hits from debris during the battle would have been bad enough, what with the paper-thin armor she has, but your maniac of a pilot almost overloaded the drive core with the approach on Ilos during their relay jump, and then made it worse when he waltzed around Sovereign." Hackett flashed a savage, predatory smile. "Though admittedly, it was perhaps the most impressive flying I ever witnessed, so to say. Still, the drive core needs serious maintenance in drydock, and the whole ship is basically a large sneeze away from flying apart; even with all the high-tech alloy we used in the construction, your pilot nearly overstressed the frame and almost blew up the compensators."

"If it's that serious, sir, when do you expect us back in the fray?"

"Ideally, I'd like at least three weeks, for maintenance and R&R for your crew. As things stand, we are lucky if we get one, two at most."

"Any particular reason for that, sir? That is, if you can tell me?"

"I wish I could tell you something concrete, but the dispatches I have received from home are rather vague, unfortunately. One thing caught my attention, though - both Professor Yildirim and Major Pieterzoon have dropped off the grid." The admiral's craggy features darkened, as he nodded towards the suddenly wide-awake Spectre. "Thought that bit would get your attention, Shepard. As things look, I'm afraid we will not have much longer before we find out exactly what happened to the Protheans and those before them."

The admiral sighed, seemed to age years.

"And I think with our luck, the public will find out about the Reapers sooner than we would like - and then we will have to deal with apocalyptic cults once again. I really wish Udina and his new friends good luck with navigating this particular minefield."

A soft chime interrupted the admiral. He checked his omnitool, then turned to Shepard.

"The liaison is here. Best get this done with, then you can go and enjoy the well-earned rest, Commander."

With a gesture of his omnitool, the door opened, admitting a rather striking, raven-haired woman wearing ONI uniform. Her cold blue gaze seemed to assess the two men for any weakness to exploit, any strength to use to her advantage. She saluted them, then sat down to the chair the admiral indicated.

"Shepard, this is Agent Miranda Lawson. She will be your liaison with Task Force Aurora." Hackett flashed another quick, predatory grin at the Spectre. "Of course, she is a bit more than that."

"Thank you, Admiral." Miranda's voice was cool, measured. "With your permission?" Hackett nodded with raised eyebrows, and the woman pulled out a small, age-worn talisman of intricate craftsmanship, and whispered a soft, short incantation. The two men shared a glance, bleak resignation on their faces. The ONI operative turned towards Shepard, focusing her full attention on him.

"As Admiral Hackett said, I'm not simply here as a member of the task force, or even ONI. Tell me Commander, what do you know of Project Cerberus?"

The Spectre frowned, thought for a few seconds, his mind racing.

"Honestly, I can't recall anything specific apart from rumors about it being a think tank dealing with applied xenoarcheological warfare." He smiled sardonically. "It seems that as usual, ONI's enjoying its black ops mystique."

The answering smile could have frozen the oceans of Titan, before the operative sighed, nodding towards Shepard.

"I suppose you are somewhat correct, Shepard. We do like black ops and misinformation, but considering your background and the work N7s usually deal with, is the secrecy that surprising? Or would you release the full details of say the Irem Incident to the public?"

The Spectre shook his head ruefully.

"No, I wouldn't. But using that little toy" he gestured towards the talisman "on top of the admiral's precautions seems rather excessive even for ONI. And since your type never does anything without good reason, I'm rather worried about the implications."

For a brief second, the perfectly sculpted marble of Miranda Lawson's face cracked, and pain flashed across her features, before the icy calm returned.

"I wish it were not necessary, Commander. But we from Cerberus received troubling information about General Ungern-Sternberg's department hinting at cultist activity - just like in the command structure of First and Second Fleet." She took a deep breath. "Understand this, Shepard. Cerberus, at its core, is more of a conspiracy than even a proper black ops project or a mere think tank. Sure, we have resources, covert influence, and powerful members in every sense of the word, but what we do and why we do it requires utmost secrecy."

Her voice slowly thawed, shades of passion entered her voice.

"We watch for the threats in the shadows, both from within and without. We fight against the corruption threatening to drag Humanity back down into the darkness, to turn us back into the fur-clad, howling barbarians who pray and scrape in front of terrible altars." Her eyes blazed with fury, the implacable determination of a glacier behind them. "We will not allow that. Not when you and people like you sacrificed so much already. Yet to achieve that, we need your help, Shepard. We need the first human Spectre."

Shepared leaned back, studying Miranda with narrowed eyes. The operative did not squirm or blink away, and calmly endured the scrutiny. The Spectre glanced at Hackett, who nodded slightly.

"All right Operative Lawson, I'm in."

* * *

The victory at the First Battle of the Citadel almost managed to destroy the fragile new power structure of the Council. The public outcry at the severe loss of life both military and civilian, the damage done to the Citadel itself - these alone would have been enough to generate resentment that has not been seen since the Krogan Rebellions. The official reports and communiques issued in the following weeks about the geth invasion and Saren's involvement hinted at rather serious shortsightedness on part of the Council according to the general, well-informed consensus of the galactic community. The result was, of course, rather harsh criticism against the three principal members. Yet this too paled compared to the way the existing, long-established status quo was cast aside mere hours after the _Normandy_ dealt the deathblow to Sovereign. Perhaps the admittance of the Alliance alone would have been grudgingly tolerated, or even applauded due to their efforts during the Saren Crisis, especially those of Spectre Shepard - but taken together with the quarians, both members and associate races were scrambling to crucify the Councilors who brokered this insane new arrangements. Having a newcomer to galactic politics, and the race ultimately most responsible for the atrocity was just too much - especially since established allies, long-term associates were summarily ignored, relegated to secondary status.

The Vol Protectorate cited its long-standing, close relations with the Hierarchy, its immense efforts in balancing and maintaining the stability of the galactic economy - a thankless, dull task that was nevertheless vital for a functioning Citadel. And their turian masters simply discarded them, put not just humanity, but those thieving quarians before them! The protests and threats died down when Councilors Sparatus and Udina conducted negotiations with Ambassador Din Korlack, promising a revision of the Treaty of Farixen as well as concessions for volus entry into the Systems Alliance financial markets. Meanwhile, Councilor Valern conducted his own deals with Barla Von on the Citadel itself.

The Courts of Dekuuna were still deliberating their protest, when Councilors Zaal'Koris and Tevos managed to present them with a solid argument about the current needs of the galaxy dictating swift, decisive actions - an unfortunate but unavoidable drawback of wartime, sadly. The conservative, meticulous elcor, the Councilors argued, were uniquely suited to oversee the post-war reconstruction, and draft the outlines for a political entity that hopefully could replace the obviously-outdated Citadel Council with a more egalitarian leadership. Meanwhile, Councilor Valern took time to visit a certain elcor merchant named Harrot on Omega.

The Illuminated Primacy was mollified when Councilors Tevos and Udina invited them to take the lead in the upcoming excavations and research to be conducted on Ilos, including access to the Prothean VI located on that world by Spectre Shepard's team, the details of the access to be worked out by consulting Doctor Liara T'Soni. Meanwhile, Councilor Valern was discussing with Ambassador Zymandis the possibility of turning a previously-fictional character into reality.

In the Asari Republics, a cabal led by Irissa T'Shora was moving to recall and replace Councilor Tevos for her shortsightedness and for allowing the situation to escalate to such extent, proving without a doubt that her misstep during the Relay 314 Incident was in fact a warning sign of her incompetence. Councilors Zaal'Koris and Udina, perhaps unsurprisingly, quickly and rather forcefully stood in support for the asari Councilor. Meanwhile, Valern, accompanied by Spectres Vasir and Kryik, met with the High Priestess of the Temple of Athame.

A faction of the Salarian Union, championed by Dalatrass Esheel, urged to replace Councilor Valern, claiming that the current salarian on the Council was unsuited for politics, not able to consider practical, pragmatic solutions to the problems, and demonstrated a singular lack of talent for taking the long view. The Councilors were curiously silent on the issue, and after a visit from Spectre Jondum Bau to Dalatrass Linron, the matter was laid to rest, and Valern kept his seat.

The Turian Hierarchy took the issue surprisingly well, all things considered. Though their forces suffered perhaps the most losses, everyone involved in the fighting universally praised the performance of Admiral Vipsania's people, and their sacrifices went a long way to make the Council races forget about the horrors unleashed by Saren. Councilor Sparatus offered to resign, citing his inability to see through Saren before the latter's rampage, but Primarch Fedorian denied the request, after not just Valern and Tevos, but Zaal'Koris and Udina as well voiced their support for the incumbent turian Councilor.

The Migrant Fleet was simply too happy to have at least a modicum of reprieve to make any serious waves in the galactic politics, at least for the short term. Sure, there were grumbling voices about the underhanded methods of the Council almost blackmailing a simple teen, and not discussing their terms with proper diplomats or the Admiralty Board, but after the grumbles reached a certain old warlord, said person promised to eat the dissenting pyjacks if they did not shut up. That went a long way to silence the grumblings.

The Systems Alliance was also dealing with internal strife, as Charles Saracino and his Terra Firma party went berserk at what they perceived as the betrayal of the species for petty personal gains, sacrificing the lives of countless heroes so the uncaring alien races could profit from humanity's blood and tears. Udina and his supporters obviously forgot the lessons taught by the First Contact War, and the Saren Crisis - after all, both were sparked by turians, and now humanity's finest would have to bow and scrape when the selfsame species who brought war and threat of extinction twice already at humanity's doorstep? With the sudden, suspicious death of President Clark, the Alliance government was thrown into chaos and infighting - with Fleet Master Sheridan actively advocating for at least an interim military government, while the upcoming geth campaign would be finished, and proper civilian elections could be held. The motion was vehemently opposed by both Senator Adkins and Minister of Education Lawson - the latter resigning in protest when the Fleet Master would not back down quietly.

* * *

The destruction of Sovereign sent ripples surging along the currents of power in the interstellar void and beyond, the wave of its passing sparking off dreams, nightmares, passion in its wake, birthing plots and plans alike as those sensitive to such events felt the Reaper's passing.

* * *

In a city of shadows, lies and cruelty, a crippled, peerless craftsman stared deep into a crystalline mirror close to his anvil, witnessing the fell blow dealt to the immense Reaper by the _Destiny Ascension_. Pride, fury, and worry warred on his face as he witnessed the bastardized, severely weakened offspring of his own handiwork bear fruit at last. He considered the likely reactions from his siblings, especially those of their current, ever more angry leader, whose body wept blood and molten iron while his sword sang with the cry of the damned. Still, the artisan closed his eyes with a defeated sigh, sending out a call for his far-seeing sister, to consult the Maiden about her prophecies.

* * *

On a distant, feral planet, monstrous, green creatures howled their fury at the sky, battling with crude weaponry, seemingly killing each other for the sheer pleasure of fighting. The carnage stopped as a number of the brutes fell to their knees, a halo of green-tinged energy playing around their heads, blood pouring from their eyes, ears, mouths.

* * *

In a nameless, faraway system halfway between Alliance territory and the Perseus Veil, Major Pieterzoon wondered for a brief moment why their way led here, of all places. He could not shake the dismay he felt, mentally drawing comparisons to their ancient trek on the Aegean Sea - and he feared that this time, the repercussions would be even more severe. Still, his friend and humanity alike needed him - and he did his level best to navigate the eddies of Fate to reach this point; even without knowing exactly what they would find.

With the pseudo-motion of hyperspace jump, another small vessel appeared in-system, close by. The profile and aesthetics of the alien ship seemed somehow insectile, distinctly inhuman - and very, very familiar for anyone who did not spent the weeks since Eden Prime under a rock. The fact that a geth ship was here was not that much of a surprise - but the message it broadcast over the open channels, in several languages simultaneously, while maneuvering clearly to maximize the targetable aspect, was jaw-dropping.

The major shared a glance with his friend, before he granted the request, and the two ships began the intricate dance of docking.

The geth platform that crossed over was alone, and markedly dissimilar to the typical mechs seen in such number recently. It wore a battered, holed N7 armor plate as its chest. The thing tilted its flashlight head, the shutters on it irising open, a flap on the side raised as a wondering eyebrow as Professor Yildirim stepped closer, placing a hand on the damaged armor plate, and spoke with a voice of power.

"Machine, heal thyself."

Warm, golden glow suffused the geth platform, as the once-broken chestpiece became whole once again.

* * *

Beyond the galactic rim, the Harbinger of Tsara'noga's Wrath assessed the situation, still recovering from the sudden, painful loss of a part of its self. The tendrils of its will quested along ancient, long-dormant pathways and channels, as it sought for any means to extract swift and terrible retribution on those upstarts who dared hurt it.

In an immense station circling a black hole, the designated leader of a slave race swayed for a moment, before its four eyes glowed a baleful yellow glare. The armies started to mobilize, their target selected, the ships ready to collect not just the occasional sample but the tribute due to the ancient lords who would once again walk amongst them.

The seeking tendrils of Wrath sparked echoes in a sleeping, dreaming husk of self orbiting a gas giant, long abandoned for dead. The fragmented, fitful dreams sparked energy fluctuations, making the empty dreadnought shudder - and in a nearby system, a lone human vessel caught the brief flare of alien energy, leading them in a new direction.

Another tendril, another echo of power was much, much more successful - and the once-dead, misnamed Leviathan was half-roused from its aeons-long coma, its awakening sending a whole empire reeling under the lashes of Wrath from the Harbinger.

* * *

 **A/N** : That concludes Part I of the story. I never expected it to make it so far, so thank you all for reading and reviewing - hopefully I can keep you guys entertained during the ME2-ME3 timelines as well. Hopefully I'll be able to post the next chapter sometime mid-May, that will start Part II - The Right of Deception.

To answer a guest reviewer of the previous chapter:

You may have a point, and I might have gone overboard with the soul-tearing light stuff. But that's my interpretation of how a Talisman of Vaul would function when it can't directly draw power from the warp, and needs to create a conduit first.

As to why I tagged the story as ME/40k instead of ME/Mythos, well there are a number of reasons:

\- the Mythos was never intended to be a prime mover and antagonist during the story.

\- both canon ME and 40k already use copious amounts of Mythos elements and references; I'm just adding a few extra bits.

\- FFN does not allow to add a third tag.


	20. Part II - Prologue

_The post-victory celebrations are sweeping across the masses of people as they rejoice at the destruction of Sovereign and the defeat of Saren. The reformed Citadel Council is scrambling to rebuild the damages to the center of the galactic government, while quelling the various dissenting voices from the member races. Optimism and determination fills the populace, as the press releases and official reports create new heroes to stand against the cold onslaught of unfeeling machines. Men and women like Nihlus Kryik, Tela Vasir, Admirals Vipsania and Hackett, and Alexander Shepard become almost household names practically overnight, the politicians scrambling to capitalize on personal connections to them or to gain their support for their own agendas._

 _Yet for all that merriment, that hopeful view, dark things are stirring in the void and within the hearts of the galactic society. As the Council races slowly spin up their war machines, intent on eradicating the geth for all, there are those who work to turn that effort to their petty advantage. The secrets behind the newly started military buildup are not nearly as well hidden in shadows as the powers that be would like. The unknown entity that corrupted Saren and the geth is slowly but inexorably drawing closer to enact its will upon the mostly-unsuspecting galaxy._

 _The faint, distant laughter of thirsting gods echoes faintly in the distance, as the calm before the storm becomes ever more strained, the starry void already rumbling with the sounds of carnage and conflict._

* * *

 ** _Part II – Right of Deception_**

* * *

 **Anadius System (15/03/2183 - a week after the First Battle of the Citadel)**

Jack Harper smiled with genuine pleasure as he leaned back in his chair, watching the ever-shifting patterns of the surface of Anadius. The view of the star and the void felt calming to him as always; here he felt at home, more ready to make plans, to orchestrate the fulfilment of the vision of Cerberus. And he could not deny that his present company was also a serious contributor to his happiness.

"He did better than we hoped for, even with leaving the old Council alive. With Udina a member and the quarians in our debt, humanity's position is stronger than ever before. But still, it is likely not enough." The voice was a husky contralto, and Jack allowed his gaze to drift from the star's surface to the rather striking figure standing at the viewport in a crisp navy uniform adorned with the insignia of a captain.

"We may have serious influence in the Council, but currently, Shepard seems to be our best bet."

"Yes, but officially, he is being sent to fight geth." The woman snorted. "I know that's mostly just smoke and mirrors, and that Hackett means well, but come on. We both know that the geth are not the real threat, not by a long shot. The Reapers and their controller are still out there."

A drag from the cigar.

"And it's up to us to stop them, wouldn't you say?"

The woman turned towards him, narrowed emerald eyes boring into artificial blue ones.

"The Council would not trust Cerberus. Hell, the Alliance does not trust Cerberus. Neither will accept open help from us, even after all that humanity did."

She touched a screen, enlarged the picture of the first human Spectre, a small satisfied smile on her lips, her whole stance radiating pride and affection.

"But they'll listen to Alex. He's a hero, on his way to becoming a damned icon." She shook her head, her smile turning rueful. "But he's just one man, despite all his considerable accomplishments. If we lose him, humanity might not have enough time to procure alternatives, especially since both Yildirim and Pieterzoon dropped off the grid."

Another drag from the cigar, a puff of smoke exhaled.

"Then we'd better see to it that we don't lose him." His smile turned predatory, as his gaze flitted over streams of data, looking for patterns, opportunities, feasible assets. He sighed, and took a sip from his glass, before leaning back.

"You have that look again, Jack. Out with it."

"I think I can find a way to convince Matriarch Trellani to argue for a small, joint human-asari task force touring some of the smaller colonies having asari presence in the Terminus."

She tilted her head to the side, frowned in thought.

"That could work, but you'd have to be very persuasive for Admiral Singh to detach the _Orizaba_ for that kind of duty." She snorted as she saw his raised eyebrows and incredulous stare, and her voice gained an edge of dangerous growl. "Honestly, Jack - did you think for a moment that I would stand aside forever? That I would always place duty and regulations over my personal feelings?" She prowled closer, a hand alighting on the back of the Cerberus leader's chair, the metal warping under her grip. Emerald eyes shone with a furious passion as she glared at him. "Did you think that I would always ignore my own damned son, just because that's needed for your plans?"

He did not break eye contact, and remained calm, even though it took a greater effort of will than he thought.

"No, Hannah. I may have held a small amount of hope for that, but we are only human." He flashed a wan smile at her. "After all, if we were not prone to failures of self-control, it is likely that your son would be rather different."

The only warning he got was the flare of fury and something else in those green eyes, then her slap almost threw him from his chair, before she leaned close, their faces only a few inches apart as flashing green eyes glared into cool, detached blues, the air crackling between the two of them.

A chime sounded from the control panel, indicating an incoming call. Not breaking the contact or their gaze, the Illusive Man forced his voice to be calm, detached, as he opened a voice-only comm channel.

"Yes, Miss Chambers?"

"Your other appointment is here, sir. Shall I send him in?"

For a second, he was tempted to say no, before Hannah decided for him. With a glare that promised future retribution, she stood up, took a step to the side and was once more the picture of military grace and efficiency. After all, the other caller arrived on her ship. Jack signalled his yeoman that she could allow the visitor to enter, and he considered the newcomer for the few moments it took for the man to cross the office and reach Jack and Hannah. He could feel the woman's surprise as he rose from his chair and extended a hand towards the other man.

"Welcome, Captain Ryder. I invited you here to talk to you about the Andromeda Initiative."

* * *

 **Khar'shan, Hegemon's palace (16/03/2183)**

Captain Balak was torn between elation and dread as he obeyed the summons of Admiral Gromel, and presented himself at the audience chamber of the Hegemon. He pondered the possible reasons for this trek - although he was a proud and distinguished member of the warrior caste, with several successful operations under his belt (including killing a team of those accursed N7s), his family was not nearly important enough for such a personal audience. He frowned in thought. Maybe it was due to those mysterious new allies that have been speculated about amongst External Force operatives - of course, there was nothing definite available about them, the Department of Information Control was as useful as always. And the fact that he was outside Hegemony space for the last months, tracking Alliance and Council fleet movements did not help his awareness of the Khar'shan situation. Still, he could not recall any misdeed or failure that would merit such a censure, so he managed to get himself into a more positive mood by the time he reached the audience chamber.

As usual, the security was extremely tight, and Balak was stripped of his weapons and armor before he was allowed into the presence of the Hegemon. In a deep corner of his mind, he scoffed at the paranoia - as if anyone could take on the Hegemon in a straight fight! Still, he obeyed the guards with alacrity, showing proper respect and deference - and then he stepped into the vast, shadowed chamber, where only the throne of the Hegemon and the Pillars of Strength shone with soft light, creating an aura of otherworldliness around the glorious batarian seated on the throne.

Balak saluted, symbolically offering his heart and life to the Hegemon, using the privilege allotted to members of his caste, and locked his eyes on his leader, his heart soaring at the magnificent perfection of the powerful, regal figure on his throne, the four golden eyes staring at him with the wisdom of ages, unfathomable power in every gesture of the man. Balak suppressed the urge to fall to his knees in adoration, that was what lower castes did, a warrior had to be stronger than that. Looking at the Hegemon, he was once again struck by the ridiculousness of anyone trying to attack the perfect warrior. The mere thought of such stupidity almost made him chuckle.

Face schooled into a stony mask of determination, he approached the throne, only noting Admiral Gromel's presence when the other batarian seemed to materialize from the shadows. Balak saluted once more, his superior returning the gesture with a measure of respect. The luminous being above them gestured, and the admiral spoke.

"Captain Balak, you are to be commended for your efforts in the last months. You have shown proper skill and determination in executing the directives set forth by the Hegemon while also adhering to the proper forms required by the Pillars." He smiled a predator's grin, the malice obvious, just like the fact that it was not directed at Balak. "Thus, you have been selected for an important assignment."

Balak saluted.

"If the Hegemon commands me through you, I obey."

Their lord gestured once again, and a screen came alive on the wall, displaying a system that was familiar to the captain. The admiral nodded in affirmation.

"I see you recognized the place, captain Balak. Good." His omnitool flashed, and the view zoomed in to the vast shipyard, and Balak's eyes narrowed, a hiss of fury slipping from his mouth before he could control himself.

"Yes, that was about my reaction as well. Would you concur with our intelligence analysts in saying that there are two dreadnoughts and three, possibly four carriers being built right now?"

Balak studied the screen for a few seconds, calculating size, looking for patterns, shapes, then nodded.

"Yes, admiral, that would be my estimate as well." He closed his mouth before he could go on, not wanting to breach protocol by offering unwanted opinion. His jaw dropped when the magnificent figure on the throne made another gesture, its meaning known to all members of the warrior caste, yet at the same time, everyone knew how infrequently it was employed. Balak risked a glance at the admiral for confirmation on what he saw, and Gromel nodded with a very faint smile.

"Speak, captain. You would not have been invited if your opinion was not valued."

Balak bowed, first towards the Hegemon, then to the admiral.

"Lords, I suspect there is something off with these human ships, particularly the dreadnought. They don't look like their new Kilimanjaro-class vessels, the profile and shape is different. Admittedly, it is subtle, but the difference is there."

"Good, captain. Now, what would you deduce from these schematics?" A gesture from the admiral's omnitool, and the view changed, displaying weapon schematics. Balak studied them for half a minute, before he shook his head.

"Those data can't be right. The damn humans could not have developed this. There is no way to provide enough power, unless..." Balak frowned, then swallowed. "Unless they use their Yutani-Yi reactors for power." The admiral nodded, and Balak had to swallow again. "Then, lord, this would be a dreadnought-scale positron cannon."

The admiral nodded once, before turning towards the Hegemon.

"That is the conclusion of the analysts as well. This presents a dire threat for the Hegemony, Lord."

"As our allies predicted, admiral." Golden eyes flared. "Now, enlighten captain Balak about his assignment."

The admiral saluted once again, gestured with his omnitool. Screens lit up, and Balak was inundated by the torrent of information and details displayed on them, as his eyes flitted over the monitors, trying to absorb at least a rough idea about what was displayed - yet the one thing that was the most striking to him was the extreme detail. Ground patrols, emergency channels, encryption keys, command roster - he caught and processed only glimpses of the vast amount of information, but that was enough for now.

"We will conduct a proper briefing later, captain. For now, hear the directive of the Hegemon. You will lead a force to Terra Nova, and destroy the shipyards" a flash of the omnitool, and the system view filled the largest screen. "By redirecting the asteroid designated as X57 to a collision course with the planet. You will be allowed to select your troops personally."

Balak saluted, his body language betraying his hesitation. The Hegemon noticed.

"You were granted leave to speak your mind, captain - and you can do so without fear of repercussion. I suggest you do so now."

The captain swallowed, then snapped to attention.

"Lord, while the sheer detail and amount of information is excellent for planning purposes, and the admiral's gracious offer about troops eliminates that worry, I still cannot see how we could get close enough. Our own ships would be detected and destroyed before we could get close enough to launch shuttles; we would simply throw away quality troops. I believe a ballistic strike from the outer system would fail as well due to the Alliance defenses."

He closed his eyes for a second, before once again meeting the gaze of the Hegemon.

"Lord, I will lead the task force if commanded, but I strongly advise that we seek an alternative, as we do not have the means to get to the asteroid's surface."

A very faint sound drew his attention, a strange, faint buzzing, as if immense insect wings were beating a rapid rhythm. His eyes narrowed into the deep shadows of the throne room, where he could perceive a darker shape stepping closer from the base of a Pillar.

For a moment, Balak could not place the strange figure; he was sure that he has seen or heard of similar creatures in the Terminus … but they were supposed to be legends. The insectile humanoid stepped closer to them, its four eyes glowing with merciless yellow light, and a deep bass voice echoed in the chamber.

" **THE ANSWER TO THAT PROBLEM NECESSITATES OUR DIRECT INTERVENTION, CAPTAIN BALAK.** "

* * *

 **Zakera Ward, Citadel (16/03/2183)**

They always came at night. Of course, that was their nature, their domain - even in the regulated, artificial cycles of the Citadel, they came at night, and there was precious little defense against them, especially after the recent events.

 _Cyclopean spires and towers gleamed in the dark depths like the teeth of voracious deep-sea predators, hungry for the souls and sanity of the unwary explorers, the siren song of vast knowledge and power too alluring for most to resist._

 _Colors and smoke swirled in lazy columns on the sky over a mist-shrouded city whose peacefulness was a facade covering secrets from beyond the gulf of time, the weight of ages settling with an immense, soul-numbing pressure on everything._

 _A darkened pathway leading from a snowy mountainside to the bowels of the earth, into the womb of the world and beyond, until the arrival to a distant, cold plateau under foreign, unknown stars that glared down at the surface with alien menace._

 _A black pyramid under a sky dominated by a vast black hole in time, space and reality, the moaning, squirming sentinels impaled on rows and rows of stakes still horribly alive despite being long dead and rotting._

 _A cold, dark, brilliant being of engines, machines, compassionless intelligence and self-interest, the triumphant ascendance of the immense draconic shape burned away by a storm of golden light and a storm of lightning._

 _A pair of glowing emerald eyes under greying red hair, staring with implacable determination, without compassion, cold and distant - only distant, faint, subtle signs that this is a facade, and only when everything has turned to void-hardened ice._

 _A dark chamber full of needles, cables and restraints, its embrace, its very being carrying a promise of pain and knowledge, before the jaws of the iron maiden snap shut, and there is only darkness, made only more terrifying by the flashes of gold in the distance, the waves of power and knowledge searing into the brain, threatening memories, self, soul._

 _Words and sounds written in blood and other fluids on skin-bound ancient folios, their meanings and implications pulling the mind towards the yawning vortex of insanity at the center of everything; the price and lure of power and knowledge echoing in the void._

 _A beautiful, elegant woman clad in silk, her face a cold mask of concentrated fury and disdain, a violin under her chin, her bow flashing over the strings as the audience and reality bleeds and the chorus of the tormented screams provides an unholy counterpoint to the hauntingly beautiful music of the spheres flashing from the instrument._

 _Sparkling blue eyes shaded by a golden mane, affection and happiness drowning in a blanket of golden warmth. Other faces, some smiling, some scowling, some furious or envious, a cacophony of impressions howling across the dark, with the underlying concept of loyalty embedded deep within._

 _Fire, blood, and blades in dark tunnels under the surface of an ill-fated distant moon, the command of a cold, distant voice echoes in the depths as the ritual circle is closed once again, the words of power falling from burned lips, and then there is only a tide of darkness, whispers, eyes, teeth and blood, drowning and consuming all in its path, flooding the tunnels, coming straight for…_

Liara awoke with a throat sore from screaming, her omnitool flashing to indicate a recently arrived message. She took a shuddering breath, trying hard to focus and get her breathing under control, to banish the images haunting her dreams since the day of Sovereign's destruction. A treacherous corner of her mind pinpointed the other, more logical reason for the visions, but she did her level best to ignore the insistent voice. She may have been inexperienced, her feeling unrequited and perhaps truly only a short-term crush typical of maidens, but she would not betray that single moment of weakness when he let down his guard in the moment of triumph.

She closed her eyes, centered herself, running through the meditative exercises taught to her so long ago by her mother, and reasoned calmness returned slowly. She reached for her omnitool, opening the message, and despite her tiredness and the nightmares, did not suppress the small smile as she saw his invitation to Flux - and then she chuckled ruefully when she realized that the party was for the whole Normandy crew.

With a sigh, she typed a quick affirmative, and a query about the study session the two of them planned for the afternoon - and which was becoming a recurring, awaited part of her daily routine. She frowned in thought as she considered the implications of her telling Shepard about her nightmares - and she knew that sooner or later, she would have to be honest with him, tell him that she saw a part of his memories. Though considering his surprisingly broad knowledge, he might have puzzled it out already, and was just being polite by not embarrassing her…

Liara shook her head, the speculation was useless. She had work to do - even though nobody had officially given her the assignment, she did her best to look for clues and tracks the _Normandy_ could later explore in their search for the trail of Saren and Sovereign.

* * *

 **Spectre Offices, Citadel (16/03/2183)**

If not for the tension crackling in the air, Tela Vasir would have laughed the blue off her ass at the situation - really, it was quality material for stupid jokes the humans usually invented and were about unlikely groups of beings walking into a bar. Even with her more than two centuries within the Spectre Corps, this group took the cake when it came to strangeness. As she was leaning back in her chair, she let her eyes wander around the conference table, taking in and assessing her colleagues sitting there.

Jondum Bau, the salarian who was no longer the informal leader of the Spectre Corps, and whose cold determination and willingness to destroy the Citadel to deny victory to Saren left even Tela a little in awe.

Nihlus Kryik she regarded with a faint, fond smile. The man was doing well now that he was finally out of Saren's shadow, and his defense of the Council Tower was already an unofficial part of the future training packages.

Alexander Shepard, the current darling of the masses for his defeat of Saren - and in light of his performance during the whole crisis and what she knew about N7s, Tela considered that he earned that fame and adoration. She smirked to herself when she considered the reactions of the hidebound Matriarchs and Justicars back on Thessia when they would come knocking for Benezia's spawn, and Shepard would likely throw them out the nearest airlock. Her smirk turned vicious. In fact, she just might help the human with that - or provide an alibi for him.

Urdnot Wrex was another first - no krogan was even considered for Spectre candidacy, but after a quick research she conducted through informal channels, Tela considered the krogan who was strongly suspected of having broken Omega's famous rule (in more ways than one) and lived to tell about it (not that he ever did) to be the best candidate for the first krogan Spectre. Not to mention that he was likely one of the few remaining battlemasters with a vision for their race that did not involve throwing themselves at everyone to avenge past grievances.

All things considered, things were promising to become rather interesting, and she chuckled softly as she watched the ongoing staring match between Bau and Wrex.

"We fought a war for your kind, died in millions to vanquish the rachni and the Council repaid us with the genophage, dooming us to a slow, lingering death. Do you have any idea how hard it is to watch your females and unborn children die, unable to do anything to help?" The krogan's voice was soft, polite, controlled; yet Tela could not stop a shiver down her spine at the sheer menace and tightly controlled wrath behind it. "Does any of that seem right to you?"

"Wrex, we have been over this." The asari nodded towards Nihlus when the turian managed not to flinch under the warlord's baleful stare at his interruption. "The krogan could have slowed down their reproduction, to appear just a little less aggressive..."

"Irrelevant. Not here to play blame game or pick at old wounds." Bau's voice was cold, his gaze not wavering from Wrex. "Don't care about past actions. Cannot alter them, and would not anyway. Decisions seemed right at that time." A sharp exhale, a quick shake of the head. "Precious little time to argue. Wrex, you are a Spectre. Tell me what you need to do what must be done."

The old warlord glared at Bau for a few moments longer, before he let out a rumbling chuckle.

"You do got a quad, Bau." He keyed his datapad, the viewscreen displaying a list of resources.

There was a short silence as the other four Spectres contemplated the display, then Shepard turned towards Wrex.

"Did you drink one too many bottles of ryncol, Wrex?"

"No."

"Did you get hit on the head?"

"No."

"Did you piss off Tali so she hacked your datapad in revenge?"

"No." Wrex chuckled. "She would be more creative than that, you should know." He looked over the other Spectres, taking in their expressions. "What?"

Bau raised a hand to his head, and Nihlus coughed uncomfortably. Tela decided she had enough, and stopped suppressing her giggle fit. The betrayed looks from Nihlus and Wrex only made her laugh harder.

"Wrex. If you do not take this seriously, I am throwing you out the airlock myself." Bau's tone was irritated. The krogan snorted.

"What, you want me to cut the list down some more?"

"No. Just explain why it is so short before I lose my patience and put a bullet in your head." In any other circumstance, Bau's voice would have made Tela go to full combat readiness, but here, she could only try and mostly fail to get her giggling under control. Wrex shrugged and leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight.

"We don't exactly have scientists with the proper fields of study. That's the only thing I need." The warlord smiled a predator's grin. "Anything else, I can get on my own, even without Spectre credentials."

Bau considered for a moment, appeared to hesitate before he spoke.

"Sure about that, Wrex? We need to have a unified krogan state as soon as possible."

The old krogan shrugged again.

"This is something that has to be done by us krogan as much as possible. The clans must be shown the error of the old ways." He chuckled, his voice filled with bloodthirsty menace. "And the fastest and only way for that is for a clan chief to knock sense into the hidebound idiots. Just get me the best scientists you can, and I will do the rest."

The warlord frowned in thought for a moment.

"I will get the krogans ready and united to stand up to these Reapers, but that's the easy part, especially if a cure for the genophage is made possible." He huffed. "So. Any recommendations, or do you need time to think and assess candidates, Bau?"

The salarian shook his head, flashed a grin, his fingers flying over his omnitool.

"No. Have the best candidate for you already. Brilliant, capable, is already familiar with both Tuchanka and the genophage." Bau cheerfully ignored the deep growl from Wrex as he went on. "He is somewhat eccentric and a bit of a cloaca though."

Bau's grin was very wide as the display changed, and showed an elderly salarian, with one cranial horn missing.

"He is currently on Omega. Want to pick him up in person, Wrex? Maybe you could meet Aria again, have a nice talk about rules and breaking them."


	21. Chapter 14

**Teltin facility, Pragia (20/03/2183)**

The young woman closed her eyes, trying to get her breathing and wide grin under control once again - as usual, it required a rather serious effort of will; the sheer enjoyment and release she felt during fighting (especially when winning) a much more potent drug than weak knock-offs like hallex or red sand. She still could hardly believe her luck to be here, and how the staff, even including the always-nosy researchers, dealt with her. Though she knew that the constant training, tests and experiments upon her were very far from normal, she also knew that it was her decision to participate - if she refused, even after the issue in question was explained to her in details, including ramifications and possible dangers, she knew that her handlers would not push. And that was much, much better than a lot of orphaned biotic kids like her had to face. Even sheltered most of her life on Pragia, she made a point of familiarizing herself with the situation back on Earth and the major colony worlds.

Between the tests and training sessions, she sometimes pondered how different her situation would be if the staff here were similar to the cold, careless assholes that seemed prevalent in the Alliance proper; and while she would never, ever deny that her handlers were ruthless and goal-oriented people, they had at least enough common sense to ensure that she and the other subjects of the Teltin facility were personally invested and properly motivated. At the half-amused urging of Doctor Selwyn, the head of research, she seriously contemplated several times how and why she'd break out and level the facility - and after the second such occasion, she was not surprised when she could see the small changes deliberately aimed at preventing (or more importantly, preempting) such scenarios.

All told, she felt rather content with her situation. Sure, the experiments sometimes hurt like hell, there was almost always an element of danger involved in them (as attested by the deaths and permanent brain damage suffered by several trainees), but they were actually doing good, and the results they paid for in blood, pain, and nightmares were indeed helpful to biotics and ordinary Alliance citizens. And she knew that apart from the scientific purposes, they (or at least her, and a few others) were being trained as biotic operatives, specifically to counter powerhouses like asari war priestesses or turian cabalists - though why this training was conducted here, instead of the various N-level training facilities was somewhat unclear to her. Of course, when she asked about it (she may have been somewhat sheltered, but not totally ignorant), dr. Selwyn explained that this location was selected because of legal and secrecy issues, and once they had produced stable, repeatable results, the training and surgical procedures would be relocated to Earth and the Grissom Academy, mainly. For some obscure reason, that felt kind of reasonable and impressive to her, and the others who also heard that reasoning - the outcast orphans were the pioneers paving the way for the future badass N-level soldiers … and likely the youngest among them would have an actual chance of participating in and qualifying for that coveted designation.

She breathed out, pulse and adrenaline levels normalising.

"Impressive bout as usual, Jacqueline." She could hear the pride in the doctor's voice. "If you are not tired, we have a special guest here, who would be interested in a bit of sparring" her eyebrows raised as she heard a note of concern enter his voice, rather unusual compared to the distant amusement he usually held towards these practice bouts, "that is, if you are fine with full contact?"

"Bring it, doc." She flashed an eager, hungry smile towards the podium. "You know how I love challenges like that."

The doorway opened, and with narrowed eyes, she assessed the man who entered. The man moved with a slightly hesitating, careful gait that spoke of recent surgery or cyberization for his legs. His arms openly displayed the tell-tale signs of bionic reconstruction. Apart from the slender blade he carried, she could not see any obvious weapons, but that fact alone made her wary - either the guy was insanely arrogant, or very, very dangerous, facing her while still recovering from something that banged him up that bad.

For some reason, even though he was just standing there, something in him nauseated and revolted her; an aura of uncleanness, of sheer _wrongness_ that seemed to emanate from the man. Her stomach almost rebelled at that, before her will clamped down. _So, likely some kind of pheromon-based trick; maybe using drell biotech for all I know. Still, not giving you the satisfaction, you smug bastard_.

With a gesture, she threw a singularity towards him, her other hand wrapping a monofilament garrote in a biotic field, aiming at his knee joints. The guy shot something from a freaking palm gun that detonated her singularity before it could fully form, and the sword slashed through the monowire. He flashed a smug smirk at her, then _moved_.

Jacqueline was conditioned and trained for over a decade by experts in several martial arts, including huntresses from Matriarch Trellani's retinue. She thought she was fast, and that only the likes of elite N7 operatives might provide a challenge for her, and that she could keep up with or outright steamroll anyone else. This still-healing smugly grinning bastard almost wiped the floor with her in seconds; only her reflexes and the wall of biotic force she pulsed saved her.

The two of them were circling now, slowly, and she could feel the euphoria of a true fight flooding her system, much better and more exciting than the regular sparring sessions. Her corona ignited with blue-white power, and she hurled half dozen thin, bladed disks at him, directing their path with her biotics, throwing lift and warp fields as well as the occasional singularity to hamper his movements. Still, he was good - very, very good. The shots from that weird palm-gun hit very hard, and the guy had an unerring accuracy. Something in his armor (magnetic boots maybe, or prototype built-in biotic inhibitors perhaps) made him rather resistant to her abilities - not that there was a moment where she could fully grab him with a biotic field. That sword of his was very well suited to bat aside her disks, and she could have sworn that he cut through otherwise flawlessly aimed warp fields of hers at least twice.

Teeth bared in a feral grin, she decided to up the ante, her disks blooming into masses of monofilament tendrils, eagerly lashing out at any sign of movement towards the man, her corona glowed fiercely as she drew in her focus, opting to use more precise fields as opposed to simple raw power.

"You'd better give up, old man." She sent him a vicious, cocky smirk. "I'd hate to undo the work of your doctors."

For a heartbeat, the sheer wrongness of the somehow soulless smile took her breath away.

"No, little girl. This is just starting to be fun."

Before she could even process that statement, that nauseating, unclean aura of his somehow pulsed, blanketing the whole field with its miasma, the worming tendrils of power seeking to turn her into a snivelling, terrified little girl. Jacqueline reacted the only way she knew, the only way she felt appropriate - she charged.

* * *

On the observation podium, doctor Selwyn turned towards his guest, who followed both the duel and the data scrolling on the multitude of screens with considerable interest.

"Your opinion, Mr. Lawson?"

The other man nodded slowly, his lips peeling back in an expression that might have been technically a smile.

"You did excellent work, doctor. Her combat and biotic abilities are even better than I hoped." At Selwyn's expression, his guest barely suppressed a chuckle. "Come now, Ivo. We both know that it is one thing to train someone like her to impress people who only have the mandatory service under their belt, but to stand up against a fully qualified N7?"

Selwyn nodded, a satisfied smile flickering across his face. His guest continued.

"And from what I can tell, the special modifications and conditioning seem to work as well."

"Just as we planned, Henry." A barely-perceivable wince, and the raised eyebrow prompted the doctor to continue. "A word of advice, though - even if we had not managed to come up with a way to break or reverse the conditioning, we should not assume that it is foolproof."

"Point taken, doctor. And while I understand that young Jacqueline is your star pupil, how do the others compare to her?"

Selwyn chuckled.

"Don't worry on that account, Henry. All surviving students meet or exceed the original Phantom criteria." Something malicious, something alien flashed deep in his gaze, his stance becoming almost insectile for a fraction of a second. "And of course we kept extensive source material for flash-cloning them, should the need arise."

The eyes of the former Secretary of Education lost all semblance to humanity, and for a moment, something hungry and utterly alien glared out from that cold gaze.

"I will hold you to that, Selwyn."

* * *

 **Orbital station, Alingon (22/03/2183)**

The immense salarian glared around from behind his visor. He never liked Alingon, even though he understood perfectly why it was a near-perfect outpost for someone like the Broker; still, being a heavily cyberized mercenary, he figured it was not so hard to understand his uneasiness. And considering the orders and direction the Network has been taking recently, he was already on edge - and well, for someone like him, being on edge filled him with an almost overwhelming urge to tear someone apart.

He noted with dark satisfaction that his escort noted his mood, and kept proper distance, showed respect and subservience; he nodded to himself, confirming that at least this batch of the Broker's private army had more common sense than the usual idiots he had to work with. He considered for a long minute the other four ships docked to the station, pondering about their occupants and the possibility of violence they were capable of.

He quickly decided that Jaroth was unlikely to cause them problems - the other salarian did not survive this long at the side of an insane maniac like Jona Sederis by picking fights without very good reason. Jaroth, first and foremost, was a survivor - and breaking the truce here and now would see him dead faster than he could blink. Not to mention that the potential benefits to the Eclipse were rather tempting, and would likely be enough to get him into the good graces of his bloodthirsty bitch of a boss.

Tarak was also unlikely to start shooting or asking stupid questions - the batarian was building up his own branch of the Blue Suns to influence that idiotic, money-grubbing Santiago, if not outright oust him. Tazzik snorted at the thought; it would be a sight to see, that's for certain. And Tarak had more than enough to worry about, as his former commander and the few Blue Suns remnants still loyal to Massani were gunning for him. It was practically an open secret on Omega that Jedore, Massani's loyal bitch of a lieutenant was recruiting mercs and stockpiling combat mechs to sweep Tarak's faction off Omega.

The third merc was, in Tazzik's expert opinion, the most likely to start any fight, likely simply for the sake of killing. Garm of the Blood Pack brought the largest contingent of mercenaries, and well, neither krogan nor vorcha were considered stellar examples of calm reasoning. It would be fun to have a go at Garm, the salarian mused, just to teach the krogan battlemaster that he was very, very far from being the top dog. Still, even a dense, bloodthirsty idiot like him should be able to understand the benefit of the Broker's offer. Tazzik snorted, shook his head with a rueful grin. He chastised himself for allowing his prejudice to influence his judgment. Sure, compared to the others, Garm might not be a mental giant, but he did not get to be a battlemaster and survived centuries just because his raw power - though it certainly did help. Still, underestimating his intelligence would be a bad move on Tazzik's part.

The salarian did not really know the fourth party to attend this little gathering of sorts, but a quick check of the Broker's database identified the ship as some type of Collector vessel. Tazzik did not really understand or care why the Broker suddenly became so accommodating towards the freaks from beyond the Omega-4 Relay, but he suspected it might have been something about the Battle of the Citadel. He knew that the Collectors usually supplied highly advanced biotech and cybernetics to those they dealt with, and from what he'd seen in the reports about that mess with Saren and his behemoth of a dreadnought, more cutting-edge tech would likely give him and the rest of the Broker's network the ability to dominate enemies like the rogue Spectre. And, naturally, they would be able to crush basically almost everyone else, but in his opinion, that was just a very nice bonus.

Tazzik kept his hand on his sidearm as his eyes and suit sensors tracked the three mercenary leaders easily - and frowned as he realized that the oversized cockroach of a Collector did not register on his sensors at all, and even his cybernetic eye had trouble tracking it. _Hmm, if they are willing to share this little bit of their tech, I would definitely enjoy testing it_.

He went rigid with surprise for a single heartbeat - an eternity for a genhanced, heavily cyborgized salarian like him. He did not expect that both Tarak and Jaroth would defer to Garm, of all people - yet all the signs were there, in their posture, gestures, a host of other, minuscule, barely-perceptible signals. Well, that was just fine with him - after all, convincing two parties that a deal was nice and beneficial was much easier than convincing four.

He stepped down from the ramp of his ship, crossed to the mercs, and beckoned the Collector closer. For a moment, he thought about spinning a nice, stirring speech about benefits and cooperation, and all that trite-but-true bullshit, then he spoke.

"All right, good to know that you three had enough sense to accept the Broker's invite."

"Get to the point, Tazzik. Even you should not bullshit around so much." Garm's voice was a deep, menacing growl. The salarian flashed a hungry grin at him, then continued.

"Fine with me. The Collectors approached the Broker to negotiate a deal with you, in exchange for tech from them and information from the Network." His smile widened as he took in all three mercs, looking for signs of surprise, even under the suddenly-rigid control the trio exhibited. "Don't worry, you'll like the proposition. I can guarantee that."

"Suppose you are honest," Tarak flashed his mandibles in a vicious grin. "Well, as honest as a salarian working for the Broker can get anyway - why are you the one talking, and not the bug?" He scowled at the Collector. "Though I guess without a mouth they can't really speak, can they now."

" **I CAN SPEAK WELL ENOUGH, BATARIAN.** " The sound was a basso rumbling of a thousand insectile wings beating in harmony, its sheer power and wrongness setting the four battle-hardened instantly on edge.

"Then out with it, bug - what do you want from us?" The krogan's growl was laced with the promise of barely-restrained violence.

" **NOTHING YOU WOULD NOT HAVE DONE ANYWAY.** " The Collector's four eyes shone with a baleful, merciless yellow eye, its body seemingly towering above them, the skin turning black and cracked, as a more mechanical undertone washed over the insectile buzzing. " **WE WILL ASSIST YOU IN TAKING OVER OMEGA - AND IN RETURN, YOU WILL STRIKE AT A SHORT LIST OF ALLIANCE AND COUNCIL TARGETS WE WILL PROVIDE.** "

The Collector raised a hand wreathed in dark biotic aura to stop the protest Jaroth was about to make.

" **THE SHADOW BROKER WILL PROVIDE INTEL FOR YOU. WE WILL PROVIDE TECH AND OTHER TOOLS. YOU ONLY NEED TO STRIKE WITH OVERWHELMING FORCE.** "

The three leaders shared a glance, communicating as only long-time enemies and allies can, before Garm turned towards the Collector and Tazzik.

"Very well, we will do it - if the stuff you two are providing is good enough." He took a menacing step forward, his biotics sparking with cold blue-white light. "But better show us the tech and intel first, as well as the list of targets."

The Collector turned towards Tazzik.

" **HANDLE THE REST, SALARIAN. THE RELEVANT INFORMATION HAS BEEN FORWARDED TO THE BROKER, AND YOU ARE AUTHORIZED FOR ACCESSING IT.** " The being shot a glare at the foursome, before he turned to leave. " **THIS EXCHANGE IS OVER.** "

* * *

 **Flux, Citadel (02/04/2183)**

The music was rather mellow, more quiet and relaxing than what Liara would have expected from Flux, given her past experiences with the club. Still, she considered that maybe the specific occasion might have something to do with it - after all, this was to be the unofficial dissolution of the Normandy crew, as they went on their separate paths. She sipped her drink, frowning as she considered her own chosen path once again, as she had many times in the past two weeks, ever since Admiral Hackett and Shepard approached her with the idea. She still could not fully believe they'd want her for that kind of role, but she could not deny the sheer intellectual thrill of the job, and that she would certainly feel useful, at least doing something to atone for her mother's insanity as well as to prepare for the coming Reaper invasion. And, as a treacherous small voice whispered in the back of her mind, it would give her a reason to keep in contact with a certain operative… Blushing, she downed her drink, barely managed to avoid choking as the potent alcohol burned its way down, pleasantly warming her.

Her companions were also quietly nursing their drinks, the whole team quieter, much more introspective than usual - even Wrex. A quick glance towards the other tables confirmed that most of the crewmembers were also content to sit back and drink, the dance floor was, for now, quiet and empty; though that might have been partially because Shepard rented the whole Flux for the evening.

"So, what's with all the doom and gloom, Shepard?" The humor was unmistakable in the flanging turian voice. "Just because you'll be deprived of such a talented and good-looking sniper is no reason for drowning yourself in ryncol." Before the Spectre could reply, the turian went on, a certain glint in his eyes. "Besides, at the rate you are going, you'll make Liara jealous, and that will end badly."

Liara sputtered, and even Shepard coughed as he glared daggers at the turian, before nodding towards Tali, who drove an elbow into Garrus' side.

"Shut up, you bosh'tet." Her eyes narrowed behind the faceplate. "Unless you are projecting your own feelings, nursing that crush of yours for the human Spectre who always takes you to fun places for all kinds of action..."

For a brief moment, there was silence, all eyes on the young quarian, as she shrugged self-consciously; then Wrex snorted, the sound transforming into a deep, rumbling laugh, and that was the cue for the others to let loose, and the mood lightened.

"So, Shepard" Wrex rumbled "any particular reason why you are throwing this little shindig? It's not like we'll be completely out of touch."

"It's not that, Wrex. Chalk it up to my stupid paranoia - just wanted to go through our rather haphazard conspiracy in a fitting place." The Spectre flashed a wry grin at them, sipped his drink, and went on. "I know we can technically easily contact each other, unless one of us has to go into deep cover - but I want to be sure that everyone knows his or her task for the foreseeable future." His voice hardened, took on a bleak edge. "I have no idea how much time we have before the Reapers, but we'd better start preparations as soon as possible. As long as we can't move openly, we are bereft of a lot of resources and by the time the populace and most of the governments can be made to see reason, it might be too late."

The operative sipped again from his drink, glowered at some unseen point, before he went on.

"Sure, the Council and especially the other Spectres are moving in support, but even so, our options are limited, and there is much to do. So, let's do one more check, before we get really drunk and ship out."

Shepard held up a finger, his omnitool running a scan, then turned towards Tali, whose headshake followed a minute later as her search came up negative.

"Good, apparently we are not bugged, and the countermeasures are working. Still, let's keep it brief."

The operative nodded towards Wrex, and the krogan shrugged, downed his ryncol, then spoke.

"Travel arrangements for Tuchanka have been made; I'll pick up that salarian on Omega on my way." The old warlord grinned. "Maybe I'll drop by Aria for a quick visit, for old times' sake. Anyway, if the doctor is half as good as his dossier suggests, we do have a real chance of getting rid of the genophage, at least to an extent. The research will take time, likely at least a few years, but that's unavoidable. Also, in the meantime I can focus on knocking the stupid from the other clans, see if I can raise a more unified alliance of krogan. That way, even if Solus can't finish the cure before the Reapers get here, we'll have an army ready for them."

Shepard nodded, and Garrus spoke up.

"I am not going to re-enlist for Spectre candidacy; the Hierarchy already has a damn good Spectre in Nihlus, and there's not much I could do that he can't; apart from sniping and looking good." Tali snorted, and elbowed Garrus once more, as the turian went on. "I'll speak with my father, see if he's open to a few suggestions about improving comm lines, weaponry, establishing depots, and worst-case plans. And when I'm not on Palaven to listen to his tirades, I'll work with Sparatus and Pallin to shake up C-Sec a bit. We are not going to allow anyone to repeat the kind of stunt Saren and Benezia orchestrated." His mandibles flared in a predatory grin. "And besides, the Citadel seems to have some significance for Reapers and their allies; if they try anything else, I think it's likely it'll happen around here. Plus, somebody has to keep an eye on the Council as well."

After a brief laughter, Tali continued.

"After I'm done with certain necessary rites" her eyes narrowed on Wrex, who simply smirked, saluting her with his drink, "I'll go back to the Migrant Fleet, to see if I can convince my father and the rest of the Admiralty Board that we need to improve on our cyberwarfare and anti-mech capabilities. Admiral Daro'Xen will be ecstatic about that. Also, we'll have to devote a part of our forces to locating a suitable planet for colonization, though the Alliance promised help in that. If we can settle at least our civilians, we can free up ships for either anti-geth or anti-Reaper operations. Also, at Liara's suggestion, I plan to ask for a small strike force, and visit some old quarian colonies close to the galactic rim, see if the old databases and science outposts are still there."

There were nods around the table, then Liara took over.

"I've decided to take the offer of Admiral Hackett and Shepard, so I'll be moving to Illium, and open up a new information broker agency. That gives us a rather good cover for infogathering and small-scale expeditions in the galactic north. The new agency will also be aiming to become sizable and influential enough for the Shadow Broker to consider employing us as an external asset, giving us some access and visibility to its network." She raised a hand to stop questions. "I'm still considering how exactly we could do that, but Shepard and I have some vague ideas. Unfortunately, this will take time. At any rate, being an infobroker will also allow me to keep a closer eye on archeotech findings and possible excavations."

"Why aren't you going to Ilos, Liara?" The puzzlement was quite clear in Tali's voice. "I'd have thought you'd want to take part in the excavations there personally. Keelah, with your expertise and clout, you could easily be leading it!"

The asari's smile was wistful as she nodded.

"True, and that's what I would love to do. But, as someone" her gaze shifted at Shepard "pointed out, we are somewhat pressed for time, and that the Spectre corps would not mind having a reliable, independent intelligence agency other than the Shadow Broker available. Besides, it is not much different from archeological research..."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that's the main reason for you accepting that offer, T'Soni." Garrus' voice was a slow drawl, his smirk infuriatingly wide, even as the blushing Liara glared at him. Shepard cleared his throat, glared at the turian, and spoke when all eyes turned towards him - some curious, some mischievous, some both.

"For the time being, Liara will come along on the Normandy, we'll drop her off at Ilium once we are finished with the first part of the recon mission, so in about two-three weeks." The Spectre studiously ignored the chuckling Garrus and Wrex, but nodded appreciatively towards Tali, who dug an elbow into the turian's side. "By that time, we will have some additional assets available for Liara, both for analysis and security." He smirked at the asari, before continuing. "I seem to remember that you were rather impressed by a certain colleague of mine, hopefully this project will be less bloody than the excavation on Therum."

Liara nodded, her gaze mirroring the swirling, confusing mix of gratitude, revulsion, fear, and awe that she felt, when she realized just who Shepard was likely talking about. Sure, the man was very competent, but his sheer presence made her skin crawl. The operative went on.

"One more thing. I will provide each of you with some encryption codes and security tokens. They are to be used if you are contacted by people from Project Aurora. The identification will be keyed to each of you, and I would not advise trying to mess with them." His eyes rested briefly on Tali, then Liara and Garrus. "I mean it. No playing around, or it will get your brains fried." Wrex chuckled darkly, and shook his head as the operative looked at him. Shepard continued. "Said Project is the SA's new tool against xenoarcheological threats, like Sovereign. We will be working with them, and at some point, I plan to bring in the Spectres as well - or at least those I trust, like Nihlus, Bau, or Vasir."

The Spectre looked around once again, checked his omnitool, shared a glance with Tali.

"Any questions?" At the headshakes, the human nodded. "All right, then enjoy yourself. The Normandy leaves at 1400 tomorrow."

For a few moments, there was silence, then Wrex chuckled, downed his ryncol.

"Go on kids, party. Who knows, we just might see Shepard actually grow a pair, and step onto the dance floor - or maybe he'll ask T'Soni to teach him."

Liara fought off the urge to throttle the old krogan while trying to keep herself from spontaneously combusting. The others broke out in chuckles, and of course somebody started the betting pool - and things went from there.


	22. Apocrypha - Warlord's farewell

**Apocrypha: Warlord's farewell**

The void above Tuchanka is torn apart with light as the Aeldari fleet and the gullible fools who sided with them fight to descend on the surface of the planet. The bleeding, battered remnants of the once-powerful Fifth Fleet, along with some asari and turian vessels that joined them during the long months of fighting withdrawal after the devastating surprise attack, is trading ships for minutes, seconds - fighting with complete abandon. They all know that the interdiction field the enemy set up cannot be breached, not in time - and they do not have the means to extract the krogan civilians anyway. Thus, they hold on with grim determination, resolved to extract a grievous toll in blood from the bastards intent on eradicating the krogan once and for all.

Despite the preternatural reaction speed and almost prescient deployment patterns of the Aeldari, the successors to the legacy of Hackett manage to make them bleed as disciplined, overwhelming fire is brought to bear on the sleek, graceful, yet comparatively fragile enemy ships. Damaged, hurting vessels are forced through a last FTL jump or a desperate evasive run to ram into the attackers or shield the remaining combat-capable vessels of the allied fleet. Admiral Pavlichenko leads with cold, calculating efficiency, that becomes her own downfall shortly into the battle - the Aeldari Farseers pinpoint her location, and the _Erebus_ is soon swarmed by fighters, while the larger cruisers bombard it from the distance. Under the onslaught, no human-made ship can endure for long, and the Tuchankan nightside is lit when the flagship turns into a rapidly-expanding ball of plasma and debris.

Yet the Aeldari miscalculated - tearing out the heart and mind of the allied fleet does not break the defenders. Granted, there is a very short, barely-perceivable hesitation, confusion, but then the chain of command, careful planning and dogged determination reassert themselves, and the battle continues with renewed fury, to the momentary shock of the aliens who expected a rout easily turned into a massacre.

Despite the fleet's efforts, there was never any doubt that the invaders would be able to land in force - and even in their twilight hours, the krogan relish the conflict as they are facing off against the might of the ancient race intent on subjugating them all.

Clans Jurdon and Jorgal fiercely defend the Shrine of Kalros, dying to the last when the vast giant of metal and fire leading the attackers takes a personal hand, unleashing his might and the thirst of the wailing blade he wields. Even then, the last of the krogans to die perishes with a fierce grin, as he senses the closing tremors not experienced since that day during the Reaper War. The victorious Aeldari are in for a rough surprise as the planet itself turns against them, the dunes swallowing infantry as the immense thresher maw approaches the ancient amphitheatre. The avatar of destruction stands its ground, eyes alight with unholy relish at the prospect of battle, uncaring about the blood shed by his underlings as Kalros approaches. The clash of the two titanic powers shrouds the surrounding vast area in a storm of dust, thunder, lava and blood.

Elsewhere, Chief Khel Burrum is leading his own clan along with the forces of Ganar and Talyth in battle against the giant mechs of bone and alloy the invaders deployed. Fire, lightning, and aetheric energy rip into the krogan lines, killing hundreds in moments. The answering storm of mass accelerator fire is weaker, but no less precise and much, much more concentrated - the warchief knows that he cannot win in the long run, but every mech he brings down is one less that will make it to the Kelphic Valley.

Deep within his throne room, the ancient krogan warlord curses the Fate that requires him to watch as his people are dying - yet they all know that this is where he can be the most useful as long as there is communication. His expertise is needed to coordinate the global campaign, and he cannot allow himself the simple luxury of going into personal combat. He snorts at the thought, knowing full well that it is only a matter of time before he has to fight once more, probably for the last time in his long life. He turns towards his aide when the blue-eyed young krogan chuckles.

"Company, warlord."

The old krogan steps closer, takes in the view from the security cameras - a single aeldari is cutting through the elites of Aralakh Company while her forces are setting up a perimeter to cut down anyone attempting to flee. The two krogans share a look, before laughter rings out from their throats, the sound echoing far into the tunnels of the compound, full of fierce determination and joy at the prospect of battle. The warlord's omnitool flashes, and there is a short, answering note as the safety locks of the reactor are disengaged, starting the inevitable process that will lead to meltdown.

"Go." The younger krogan looks poleaxed for a moment, before rage suffuses his face, the ground trembling as he takes a step towards his stepfather, warlord, krantt-member. Before he could do anything stupid, the old warlord headbutts him, the impact sending the younger male staggering back, as the old chief grins at him. "Take care of Bakara and the kids for me. Try to get them off this rock - and if you can't, then take as many of the bastards with you as you can."

A split-second hesitation in those blue eyes, a deep, warning growl from Wrex, then Grunt snaps off a salute, and marches off into a tunnel.

For another few minutes, the old warlord directs the battle on the surface, using every skill and trick he learned over a thousand years of fighting against overwhelming enemies. He knows that ultimately, it is futile - yet the mere thought of giving in, of following the idiots that believed the promises of the aeldari, of submitting to the aliens makes his blood boil. He faced and endured worse before getting to the end of his long life - and he is determined to do anything in his power to ensure that his doomed people write their names into the collective soul of the accursed aeldari.

Something grabs his attention. A sound that has absolutely no place in there, a sound that's rare on Tuchanka even after repairing the Shroud. The sound of rain beating on the ground. The air feels full of tension, static electricity. The storm is coming to finally end him, to drench the complex with his blood, to break his people and his allies by killing him in full view. He cannot hold back his deep, full-throated laughter. As if the alliance who survived the Reapers, who tore apart Tsara'Noga and its pawns, would be dismantled by the demise of a single warlord.

A flicker of movement, a blurry shape in the darkness, the rainfall of running steps reaching a crescendo - and with centuries of practice, Urdnot Wrex barely dodges the strange, three-bladed weapon flying towards him, the sharp blade biting deep into the wall before the thing returns to the hand of his attacker. He takes a moment to study her as they circle one another. The aeldari is lithe, her movements more graceful than even an asari, yet there is power behind them, an unrestrained capacity for violence almost on par with his own. The female's curved blade inscribes intricate patterns, before Wrex rolls his eyes, and simply vanishes into a blue-white tunnel of light as he charges, the aeldari barely managing to avoid being crushed between the wall and the immense weight of the krogan warlord - and then she is thrown back as the massive shotgun hits her center mass.

With a gesture, Wrex sends a warp field at the woman as he rushes in to overwhelm her - then barely manages to avoid the slender blade severing his leg as she seemingly flows under him, springing into a fighting stance behind him, and he can practically feel the disgust, hatred, and fury behind the mask. A split-second warning is all he gets as the air and aether alike distort from her furious scream that tears into his soul, burning along his nerves and organs, seeking to hold him fast as a helpless sacrifice.

Wrex roars his fury, and with a boom of displaced air, charges again, a biotic-wreathed fist slamming aside a slender, ancient blade, ignoring the three-bladed weapon cutting deep into his body as his opponent barely dances aside, evading the shotgun blast - then the female staggers back as the warlord headbutts her, the bone-white helmet cracking under the hit. His follow-up strike is dodged, and the sword hits him, parting barrier, armor, and bone alike with ease. Blood spatters the floor.

The chamber lights up with blue-white light as biotics clash with aetheric energy, shadows chasing each other on the walls and floor as the two clash again and again with lightning speed, uncaring of the pain of hits, the crunches of buckling bone and armor, the spurts of blood, the deafening roars of the krogan shotgun and the hateful screams of the aeldari.

He smirks at her, before laughing outright, not even the enraged, empowered howl of the banshee able to suppress the triumphant laughter of the warlord, as his omnitool pings with a confirmation. The woman's stance shows a split-second of shock, her outlines almost blurring as she prepares to storm from the blast radius, before she shrieks in pain as a gesture from the blue-lit Wrex pins her in place with gravity, his voice a gurgling, drowning, but satisfied growl.

"Stay, **bitch**."

* * *

 **A/N:** Just a short peek into the original concept of the post-ME3 future of the fic.


	23. Chapter 15

**Amada system, Omega Nebula (15/04/2183)**

"Disengaging FTL drives. Emission sinks active. Board is green, we are running silent." Joker's voice was bored as the _Normandy_ dropped back into realspace, the routine and tedium of the supposed patrol already making flying a pain. He maneuvered the frigate on a course that would bring them within sensor range of both Eingana and Alchera, to see if the latest scrap of intel ONI forwarded to them had any basis in reality.

"We're wasting our time. Four days searching up and down this sector, and no sign of any activity - neither geth, nor smugglers or mercenaries." Pressly's voice was tense, on edge - and that twigged something in the pilot's mind. The XO was usually excessively anal about following orders and procedure to the letter; if he was willing to voice his feelings and objections to a directive from ONI, he must have been really ticked off. And anything that ticked off the XO was more than enough to set Joker on edge. His fingers danced over his haptics, readying the ship for combat maneuvering.

"Three ships did go missing here in the past two weeks, XO. Something must have happened to them." The edge in his voice was surprising to himself as well.

"My money's on the Blood Pack. They became orders of magnitude much more active in the last month or so - and they were always a pain in the ass in these parts anyway."

Joker opened his mouth to reply, as Ensign Draven spoke up from Ops Alley, confusion and something else in her voice.

"Picking up something on the long-range scanner. Unidentified vessel. Size and drive emissions suggest a cruiser, or even larger displacement." With a flick of her hand, she sent the sensor data to Joker's screen, and the pilot immediately started up the ID registry.

"Hm, its drive doesn't match any known signatures."

"Cruiser is changing course." Talitha's voice dripped with disbelief, and just a hint of worry. "Coming on intercept trajectory."

"Can't be. Stealth systems are engaged. No way they could sense us..." Pressly's voice was full of disbelief, but his hands already moved on his console, priming weapons systems, plotting possible avoidance courses.

"It's not geth, that's for sure..." Joker mused for a second, his eyes going wide as his sensors warned him of the energy spike blooming on the unknown vessel. "Brace for evasive maneuvers!"

The darkness of the void flared with a baleful yellow glare as a thick beam of incandescent light reached for the Normandy, as Joker juked and jinked the frigate, trying to dance away, to confuse the targeting of the enemy vessel.

"I'm not sure how long I can keep evading!" Joker yelled into his mic, as he almost tore the frigate in half with an insane turn that still barely managed to avoid the next incoming shot. "Pressly, Adams, we need FTL before..."

The _Normandy_ shook and Joker cursed as the yellow beam tore into the wing of the frigate, the vessel shuddering, its speed dropping as the right-external engine was shorn from the ship. The hit was enough to send all crew members not yet strapped in staggering. Pressly overbalanced, hit his head on the console, and slid down to the floor, unconscious and bleeding. Tabitha unstrapped herself to check on the XO, slapped a medigel patch on his temple, before another hit sent her reeling.

"Kinetic barriers down!" Joker's hands flew frantically over his console. This could not be happening - there was only one enemy he might believe capable of hitting his ship like this, and the drive signature did not match Sovereign's.

"Distress signal launched." Shepard's voice was calm, cool - and carried the typical slight distortion of a hardsuit's comm unit. The pilot did not know what the Spectre and Liara were up to in the operative's cabin (ok, if he was honest, he did have some ideas), but damn, getting into armor barely a minute after the attack, that must have been some record.

Before Joker or anyone could reply, the _Normandy_ howled with the stress of tearing metal, as the incandescent yellow beam carved into the hull of the frigate. Secondary explosions filled the interior of the ship with noise, flames, and smoke, along with the screams of the injured and the cloying scent of sizzling meat.

"Weapons offline!" Joker barely had enough time to cry out as he wrenched the dying vessel into another maneuver, barely avoiding a direct hit to the drive core. His nostrils flared, and he spared a quick glance behind himself. "Fire in the Ops Alley!"

With a quick gesture, he activated the internal barrier of the cockpit, ensuring that the flames would not reach him, and that he could do his job without distraction. Another blast of light tore into the frigate, punching a hole straight through the CIC, and for a brief moment he closed his eyes, hoping that nobody was sucked out into the void before the emergency barrier came online. His console lit up with a new warning, and he screamed into his comm.

"Another energy spike, brace for..."

The _Normandy_ thrashed like a wounded animal as the unidentified cruiser blanketed the area with some kind of energy field, that did not seem to be doing much of anything - or so Joker hoped for a brief second, before Adams roared into the comm.

"The core is going critical! Containment dropping, it's awakening!"

"Adams, everyone still alive - get to the escape pods, abandon ship." Shepard's tone brooked no dissent, and the pilot could not suppress a shiver at the glacial calm radiating from it. "The Alliance should be here to pick you up shortly."

As the ship shook from impacts, the hull groaning and screaming from the stress Joker's evasive maneuvering put on it, the pilot could see and feel the escape pods launching - as well as the rapidly closing moment of the drive core awakening. He started as a faint, whistling noise made itself know, just at the edge of his hearing; a distant chorus of horrors howling an ululating cry of gleeful madness and vengeance. His mouth went dry, his hands shook - and though he would never admit it, that shake allowed him to spin the Normandy away from another hit. Still, barely seconds later, an explosion bloomed out in the void, and Joker swore.

"Shepard, the bastards are going after the lifepods! We won't last until reinforcements are here!"

The Spectre's voice was still calm, though there was an underlying strain and some gurgling quality to it, as if he was speaking from underwater.

"Just get off the ship and trust me; I'll take care of this in a minute."

Another hit sent the frigate reeling, debris, flames, and atmosphere trailing in its wake. Joker still struggled to maneuver, to keep the dying ship between the enemy and the lifepods - then turned his head as steps sounded, and he came face to face with Liara, the asari's face a tear-streaked mask of soot, her voice a hoarse croak even through the hardsuit's comm.

"Come on Joker, everyone else's gone already!"

Before the pilot could answer or react, a malevolent, gloating howl sounded from somewhere deep in the corpse of the frigate, the whistling, loathsome noise searing the words _tekeli-li_ deep into their minds. For a brief heartbeat, both Joker and Liara saw the pulsing, blue drive core swallowed by something blacker than the void, before the tide of darkness, eyes and teeth threatened to drown them body and soul - then the pilot screamed, a fair number of his bones snapping as Liara's biotics wrapped around him, and yanked Joker to the asari's side as she dove into the escape pod, her fist slamming down to launch them off the ship.

"Shepard, we are leaving!"

The disintegrating _Normandy_ was smothered in a blanket of eye-searing, malevolent darkness, snuffing out fire, light, life and souls alike; the vast, craggy cruiser looming in the distance, its sheer bulk making it visible even with naked eyes as the behemoth turned towards them for another pass, yellow glare pooling in the throat of its main cannon. Before it could form the deadly spear of coherent light, the corpse of the frigate pulsed as molten-gold lines of power seared an arcane symbol into being, the howling darkness fraying, evaporating from the golden glare.

Joker saw Liara's eyes as she looked back towards the receding husk of the ship, saw her lips move beneath the faceplate of the helmet - and saw the cruel yellow light lance out from the cruiser once more, bearing straight down the remains of their ship … only to be stopped as a glittering, coruscating lattice of crystalline power snapped into being, the vast beam ever-diminishing in the non-euclidean depths of the labyrinthine shield. A few seconds later, another beam slammed into the gossamer-thin defense, the higher dimensions cracking, bleeding as the Guard started to buckle under the sheer power of the assault. Both Joker and Liara knew that the third shot would destroy the shield, then the unknown enemy would be free to mop up the few survivors of the _Normandy_.

As the aegis died with a silent explosion of golden power, Joker could not stop a disbelieving laughter when a sensor reading flashed on the escape pod's screen - and with the pseudomotion of an FTL jump, an immense bulk materialized between the wreck of the _Normandy_ and the alien ship, and a coldly furious whisper rasped into the open comm channels.

"Get away from my son, you bastards."

Aboard the _SSV Orizaba_ , a red-haired woman sat ramrod-straight in her command chair, emerald eyes glaring at the tactical plot as Hannah Shepard bared her teeth in a feral smile, the red lighting of combat readiness transforming her expression to a berserker's mad glee. A heartbeat later, the targeting system flashed green, and with a shudder felt across the whole vessel, the SA dreadnought opened fire - its main gun spitting out a trio of shots in a rapid burst as thirty torpedoes raced from its tubes towards the enemy cruiser.

The craggy bulk of the unknown ship turned ponderously to bring its main gun to bear while ECM systems almost on par with Sovereign's howled with electronic noise, garbage data, viral and n-dimensional attacks as they sought to bring down the human vessel's defenses. From the salvo of thirty torpedoes (two-thirds of which were penaids and ECM drones anyway), only a single one managed to get past the jamming.

Greyish unlight spread over the rocky surface of the enemy ship, giggling tentacles of light and malice tore into the vessel in a silently screaming vortex of cancerous destruction, sending it reeling off-course.

Aboard the _Orizaba_ , Hannah smiled a predator's hungry grin, as her fingers danced on her console, sending her ship into a micro-FTL jump, dropping into knife-fight range - and along the dreadnought's side, dozens of GARDIAN lasers flashed with baleful light, carving deep furrows into the unknown assailant of her son's ship, explosions blossoming in the wake of the salvo.

A scant second later, Hannah had to bite her lips to suppress a scream of frustrated rage as the alien vessel vanished into FTL. Swallowing thoughts of revenge, she directed her crew to begin SAR, desperately looking for a specific hardsuit transponder broadcasting on N-level signifiers.

An hour later, she was able to look at her son once again - or rather, the wrecked, wasted shell of what was an N7 operative not much earlier. The stress of holding a Guard capable of dissipating a dreadnought-caliber weapon more than once, on top of dealing with an unleashed and angry shoggoth almost destroyed him. The preliminary medical report prior to stasis listed extensive cerebral damage, ruptured internal organs, broken bones, severe burns - and those were just the most obvious ones.

She could only hope that the SA Medical Corps, or rather, Jack's pet genius was as accomplished at repairing damaged humans as the shadowy bastard claimed.

* * *

 **Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream (16/04/2183)**

General Oleg Petrovsky was not having a good day. Admittedly, he did not consider most of his workdays as good - after all, it took him away from the research work and studies he would have preferred, but he supposed the accusation of having an overdeveloped sense of duty (and ego) was somewhat correct. Thus, he could ultimately only blame himself for being stuck in his office at Arcturus, instead of being back on Earth - perhaps if he had not refused the University's offer, he'd be studying ancient secrets in Kathmandu. As things stood, the possibility of doing such research in person was rather distant, and with a sigh, he refocused on his guest, assessing the former cabinet member. He had not exactly known what his reason for visiting was, but he made a few educated guesses. After all, the two of them were part of the same informal organization, pursued the same ultimate goal with all their not-inconsiderable skills and resources.

Still, despite the common aims and mindset, he was somewhat leery of this particular guest, and his mind raced as he considered the specific request put forth by the man. Admittedly, it was not completely unusual, and his subordinates had done such work in the past as well; sometimes at the exasperation of Director Bergman and her people at AIS. Even so, the magnitude and implications of his guest's request made him cautious. His train of thought derailed as his comm unit flashed with an incoming message that bypassed his yeoman, and with a raised eyebrow, he moved to accept the call while motioning his guest to move back, outside the range of the audiovisual pickup - and for a fraction of a second, he considered engaging the privacy field of his desk before deciding against it. If he could not even trust his guest and the others of their cabal, he might as well have put a gun to his head and be done with it.

As the call came through, he could not stop the surprised eyebrow raise.

"Fleet Master, what can I do for you?"

"Is the line secure, General?" Petrovsky's eyes narrowed at the words and the tightly controlled tone of his superior, as he checked the encryption of the comm channel and the privacy settings of his office before he nodded. "I'm sending you a CRITIC report I just received from the Orizaba; its basics will likely be in the news rather sooner than I'd prefer. Read it before we go on."

An indicator flashed, signalling an incoming data packet, and Petrovsky accepted it, then speed-read its contents; as he felt his thoughts racings, a cold feeling of fury and worry threatening to overwhelm his composure. He raised his head, locking eyes with Fleet Master Sheridan, noticing the volcanic fury behind the cracking wall of iron will.

"I want answers, General."

"With all due respect, why me, sir? Why not ONI? Or the AIS?"

"Apparently, you have been lax, General; too many conspiring in the dark while running your little conspiracy with your illusive friends."

For a moment, Petrovsky stiffened, and he could perceive the surprise from his guest as well. The Fleet Master, unaware or more likely, uncaring, went on.

"I am quite well aware of your shady little cabal, and the only reason you have not yet been dealt with is that our goals align, and none of you have moved against Humanity in any way whatsoever." Sheridan flashed a shark-like grin, and continued. "Besides, there are times when clandestine efforts like yours are required for survival, and we are both aware that such times are coming - or more precisely, have already began. And the SA will need good, loyal hounds before all is said and done."

"Don't beat around the bush, sir. Why me? Why the Public Security Section?"

The eyes of the Fleet Master blazed with a cold blue light as he glared at Petrovsky.

"Because currently yours is the only relevant agency I would be able to trust. Who else, Oleg? The ONI? They dropped the ball on this; and have absolutely no idea what or who the attacker was - and even then, who is to know that they have not deliberately fed us false data to get the _Normandy_ into position. The AIS? Apparently you have not heard about the attempt at Helena's life. Clearly, they or elements close to them have been compromised."

Petrovsky could not suppress a shiver at that little tidbit - he was unaware of it, but considering the effort required to even mount such an attempt, he did not wonder why the AIS and the SA went to likely extreme lengths in suppressing that information.

"What about Erwin's department?"

The Fleet Master glared at him disdainfully.

"I would not trust Ungern-Sternberg as far as I could throw him." Sheridan raised a hand, forestalling the question. "Sure, he does seem and act supportive, but I don't believe for a second that he does not have a hidden agenda - and considering his position and department, I'm not sure I should enjoy that support." A brief pause, before the Fleet Master shook his head and went on. "Anyway, they too seem to have dropped the ball on this. After all, there was no forewarning, no prognostication, no post-battle identification of the unknown enemy - and considering the assets we placed at his disposal, that silence is more than enough to make me suspicious."

"You do realize that esoteric methods like those of his department were never considered to be accurate or reliable?" A moment of consideration, then he amended. "Well, not before his predecessor began working closely with Kathmandu. Ever since, they did become somewhat more stable."

The glare he received as an answer was almost potent enough to melt bulkheads across the screen.

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Oleg. I can see why you got so far." A blink, and Sheridan continued. "The fact that Erwin's department is completely silent, despite the rather blatant measures Shepard was forced to take is what makes me suspicious - especially when coupled with the fact that both Yildirim and Pieterzoon have vanished."

Cold dread slithered down Petrovsky's spine.

"You don't think Erwin pulled something that insane, right?" The brief contemplative silence was telling enough, but then the Fleet Master slowly shook his head.

"I don't think he had a hand in that - but I'm almost certain he is taking advantage of their disappearance." His features hardened. "We are getting sidetracked, anyway."

Petrovsky nodded, marshalling his thoughts before summarizing for his superior.

"Essentially, you want me to conduct an investigation into who was responsible for leaking information that lead to the destruction of the _Normandy_ , and the death of our first Spectre - and you want me to do this quietly." Sheridan nodded, and Petrovsky shook his head with a rueful smile. "You do realize that this will cause quite a number of problems within the SA, and that the cabinet will view the whole thing as a pointless turf war between intelligence and security agencies?" Again, a nod. "And that's not even mentioning the fact that it will pit us against the Shadow Broker in all likelihood."

Petrovsky could not suppress a short chuckle as he saw the Fleet Master's expression.

"Come now William, who else would be the primary culprit for this? Considering what we know, it is highly likely that some yet-unknown party, possibly remnants from Saren and Benezia's forces or cultists of Sovereign paid for the information and to conduct the attack. And considering ONI's impotence, who else could arrange for them to be this impotent, either via sabotage or old-fashioned corruption?" He raised a hand as the Fleet Master opened his mouth. "Yes, technically the STG and the Spectres both would have the resources and ability to pull this off - but if they had access to weaponry like the attacker did, we would have known. Perhaps you did not notice, but based on the sensor data from the Orizaba, it is markedly similar to the main weapon that Sovereign used."

With a mirthless grin, Petrovsky continued.

"We do have a longer-term project in the works, which was planned to start after the _Normandy_ finished its patrol - the establishment of a new information brokering agency on Ilium. I strongly suspect the figurehead we had in mind for that will now have extra incentive to pursue the original course. Alas, as with all endeavours of this nature, it will take time, especially if I'm right and we are indeed up against the Shadow Broker."

The general leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers as he met the glare of the Fleet Master.

"Will that be satisfactory, sir? Or would you require something quicker that can be used in the immediate future for … internal political purposes?"

The sheer malevolence and wrath from the glare Sheridan leveled at him was surprising, but Petrovsky managed to keep his calm. The Fleet Master's voice was even, measured - yet he could clearly hear the underlying fury.

"Do not play games with me, Oleg, or I will personally tear your lungs out. Our most advanced vessel was destroyed practically effortlessly by an unknown foe. Our first Spectre is listed as KIA a scant few weeks after his investiture. Our intelligence agencies have been infiltrated, misdirected or suborned. There are signs pointing at external forces intent on destabilizing the SA by pulling the exact same stunts you are testing me with - and all this when we do have strong indication that Sovereign's peers will be coming to finish the job he started." The glare intensified, the voice became a deceptively calm, friendly whisper. "While I do think I would do a much better job than Speer and his cronies, you would do well to remember that I am at least as loyal to Humanity than you and your Cerberus friends. If not more so. And to waste time, effort, and resources on a coup on the verge of a potentially galactic-wide crisis is insane."

Silence settled between the two, before Petrovsky nodded decisively, and Sheridan's glare let up, as the Fleet Master spoke.

"One more thing, Oleg. Let your associates know that while they got results in this case, in the future such creative reassignments of naval assets are not appreciated - at least not without consulting me; at least after the fact, should time be a critical factor." He flashed a wry grin. "And now I have to find a way to simultaneously upbraid Hannah for the stunt, and commending her on a job well done."

The screen winked out, and Petrovsky turned his chair back towards his visitor, and perked an eyebrow.

"Thank you for the trust, General. It was certainly an enlightening conversation." The sharply-dressed man leaned forward, his eyes alight with fierce hunger for something. "So, in the light of the Fleet Master's orders, will you be able to assist us, General?"

Petrovsky contemplated again for a minute, analyzing and discarding plans, possible scenarios, dangers to the SA the plan proposed by his guest might represent, evaluated his instinctive wariness of this man. He could not put his finger on it, but something in his guest set off his internal alarms - but then again, he supposed that as a former politician and ruthless entrepreneur, the man was indeed dangerous enough for just that. And at any rate, he could easily assign some people to discreetly keep an eye on him, just in case his dossier was an extremely good fabrication. Petrovsky looked up, and nodded.

"Yes, Mr. Lawson, I will provide personnel and resources for the military buildup of Cerberus forces."

* * *

 **Thorne system, Hawking Eta cluster (20/04/2183)**

As their vessel dropped from FTL at the system's edge, Mahinda Chandana could barely contain his vicious satisfaction. After years of being sidelined, being denied the the accolades and fame that were justly his for his accomplishments and publications in both astronomy and xenoarcheology, this was his hour of triumph. Even better, that maniac Garneau was still back on the Citadel, following up on that mysterious Leviathan of his, so the lion's share of the credit would fall on Chandana. After all, he did come up with the program that, in coordination with those hidebound idiots at PROJECT HARUSPEX, led them finally here. And no, he adamantly refused to consider that if not for DEEP EYES catching some very faint echoes off a signal that originated from somewhere in the galactic rim, his own vaunted calculations may have borne fruit only years later - if at all.

He snorted at the memory of explaining his theories and astronomical models to those fossils so enamored of their technological monstrosity - as if they did not simply lift their whole concept straight from the previous millennium! They considered themselves so high and mighty, building off the "wisdom" (or madness) of Yi, of Ikari, of Akagi - all the while fawning over the safe protocols and methods propagated from Kathmandu. They had no inkling of how such esoteric methods worked, they dabbled simply with things that were very much beyond the understanding - even discounting the fact that they did not have the knowledge and wisdom of countless aeons to draw upon.

At least they fell in line rather quickly, no doubt helped by the presence of his unwanted ONI minder - and as so often lately, he could barely suppress the resentment and anger boiling up whenever somebody mentioned her. Sure, she did seem to act with deference and politeness, but the mere fact that she was there was insulting. His loyalty to the SA was never in question, and he was capable of conducting his on-site research quite well on his own. Chandana supposed it was once again either politicking, or the clandestine shenanigans so prevalent in such situations ever since the ascendance of the University of Kathmandu.

What galled him even more is that even with his background, despite having backing from and the support of numerous high-profile individuals, he still could not get advance warning of getting an observer - nevermind ditching the woman. And the meeting with that pompous old bastard of an admiral, where he was forced to bow, scrape, and act polite around uniformed thugs who could barely grasp the implications of his work … well, that event was certainly galling, to put it very mildly. Luckily, he did manage to keep control over himself, mostly.

For a moment, he closed his eyes, centered himself. Dwelling on past slights, ultimately petty grievances would not do, not in his hour of vindication. The crewmembers did their jobs silently, the ship's sensors sweeping over the vast, empty void, looking for that proverbial needle in the haystack, yet Chandana could feel their confidence in their (or rather, his) calculations. The target of the weapon that created the Great Rift would be here, somewhere. Sure, they may have to spend several days searching in the asteroid field, but if their luck holds, they might find the object somewhere around Mnemosyne. And lately, Chandana did put a rather lot of faith in such luck. To be fair, he supposed it would be hard not to - after Vancouver, he got ample evidence that he and his peers were on the right track.

These so-called Reapers (and he could not fully suppress a short chuckle at the pomposity of the name) were but a means for an end; their peculiar, highly advanced science would soon serve Mankind, hastening their journey towards ascension. With an effort of will, Chandana brought himself back into the present, shedding visions of future glories - after all, they did have to defeat the Reapers in order to make use of them. And precisely that was why he was here - why he had to be here. To ensure that these crucial steps would not lead Humanity astray, but follow the envisioned path towards the Silver Key, and the Gate beyond.

A screen flashed at the edge of his vision, as the sensors found a massive construct orbiting the gas giant of Mnemosyne. With an excited grin, he commanded the ship forward, and a scant hour later, he could feast his eyes on the visuals transmitted by the drones sent to perform a quick reconnaissance.

The ship was massive, a two-kilometer-long husk of hypertech alloy. Though it was still generating a measure of power, as evidenced by the faint mass effect field that prevented its orbit from deteriorating, and tumbling into the gravity well of Mnemosyne, the ship has clearly seen better days. Its hull was torn and pitted where internal explosions and external impacts had marred the once-pristine blackness of the metal. The sheer menacing invincibility exuded by Sovereign was absent, and for a brief heartbeat, Chandana almost felt pity towards the once-majestic piece of engineering (or evolution?) laid low by some primordial enemy.

Mahinda Chandana steeled his mind, focusing on the arduous task of determining on how active the Reaper was (and thus, how potentially dangerous) - and planning on what exactly would be needed to set up an on-site research facility, who could be relied upon to keep the immense discovery secret while still being able to contribute. After all, it would not do if the other races benefitted from the knowledge that the Reaper's corpse represented - or at least not before Humanity was sure to squeeze out all of its secrets.

During the long hours of work, he was not aware of his hands occasionally straying towards the small crystalline trinket given to him in Vancouver. Nor did he realize the profound effect the derelict vessel had on the ONI agent. But most importantly, he was completely unaware of the innocuous data packet that was sent alongside their usual status report, and which caused Henry Lawson to smile triumphantly, when the Illusive Man showed him the information. Events were proceeding quite well, all things considered. It would not be long now.

* * *

 **Location: unknown (date: unknown)**

Complying with the politely worded yet very firm instructions of their traveling companions, they had refrained from accessing the extranet without express permission. Some of them found the restraint a plaguing hindrance, but the majority acknowledged it as a valid means of keeping their presence and task hidden - or at least as hidden as possible, given the circumstances. For whatever reason, the ship's databanks were put at their disposal with casual indifference; the opinion was that it represented a measure of trust while simultaneously serving as a test as well. Nevertheless, even after meticulous preparations for their current task, there was always room for improvement, for broadening their knowledge - thus, they delved deep into the surprisingly extensive archives of the ship, hoping that an in-depth analysis (and comparison with their own previous data as well as the data they collected about the other Council races) would yield results about the two who shared their vessel with them.

Of course, they did not strictly limit themselves to studying the digital records; they paid close attention to the two persons as well, examining their habits, behavior, interactions, trying to find out the reason for their actions and the inexplicable phenomena that seemed rather pervasive in their vicinity.

So far, the research was rather … inconclusive. While they did have advanced sensory equipment at their disposal that enabled quite detailed and extensive scanning of biological lifeforms, in order to better gauge their reactions, so they could formulate appropriate responses conducive to nonviolent encounters. While not specifically tailored to be used on humans, they did have sizable amounts of information on the species; fitting, considering their original objective. In light of this, the results gotten from the two humans were … deemed inconclusive, after a lengthy period of re-checking, calibrating, and re-testing the scanning systems. After all, the readings either did not make sense, even allowing for large-scale individual deviances in life expectancy among humans - or they were being jammed or manipulated. That was, of course, a distinct possibility, especially factoring in the events that occurred when they boarded, that neither chronometers nor location beacons seemed to work reliably; yet their pilot always seemed to know which course to take, even without relying on the established navigational beacons and protocols - or employing the navicomp for calculating the jumps. He did, however, repeatedly consult a small, intricate mechanism that while called a compass, was obviously not one, as it would not enable navigating in the void. Presumably, it was some kind of archeotech device, likely able to tap into a higher dimensional energy matrix, and the pilot was following whatever directions he could infer from that after consulting an old, worn notebook (itself likely a remnant of a xenoarcheological expedition).

Before they could once again derail the discussion from its current main topic, several of them, working in concert, dragged the debate back on track. Not for the first time, they pondered their arrival to this vessel, and the accompanying phenomena, as well as the precise nature of their companions. The only consensus they managed to form yet was that after carefully absorbing the information from the ship's databanks, they were more likely to be able to puzzle out this enigma, as they felt they know had a much better picture about humanity than before.

The discussions, debates, the quest for a viable consensus went on for a virtual eternity. Theories were bandied about, supporting examples dragged up from both history and religion, human and otherwise. There was agreement that there were common themes in mythology and religion across all Council races, so they felt that even the non-human-specific facets of their data had merits in the discussion - and the tangent of analyzing such similarities in-depth was shelved for the time being, its relevance marked as potentially high but likely not conducive to reaching consensus about the current issue.

A trend seemed to be emerging, that may potentially form an acceptable consensus - and despite the rather outlandish-seeming conclusion, it contained solid, logical reasoning, supported by examples from countless sources across galactic history in general and humanity in particular. Even the strangeness would only strengthen this line of thought; as a tangential remark pointed out, if one eliminated the impossible, whatever remained, however improbable, was the closest one could get to the truth. That line again prompted a check-up on the sensory equipment as well as the memories of the particular event, and the time elapsed since then, to attempt to verify that they have not been altered or modified by an outside source.

Again, an eternity of consideration, of referencing various philosophical and religious figures and views throughout the ages, finding parallels between the actions and abilities ascribed to those mythical beings, and the ones who travelled with them. The similarities were uncanny in several cases - made even more so when evidence was located about how later science explained those seemingly magical, supernatural efforts.

For a brief fraction of a second, the consensus was an imminent possibility - that was derailed when the implications of the previous conclusion sunk in, but before the discussion could veer off to an admittedly interesting tangent, the need for consensus prevailed. While the polling took a full, eternal second, the results were not surprising, nor was the subsequent action.

* * *

Aboard the _SSV Argo_ , the previously-motionless geth platform stirred after spending hours (days? weeks? minutes?) plugged into a computer node, then stepped towards the bridge. Its eye took in the two humans within, noted how the uniformed one had to suppress an instinctive reaction at a single eye glaring at him, before the blue light of its ocular sensor settled on the professor. Its eyeflaps raised, head tilted slightly towards the side, it asked in a voice full of childlike curiosity and uncertainty.

"Are you a god?"

And despite his age, experiences, and his companion's reaction, Major Olof Pieterzoon could not stop laughing.


	24. Chapter 16

**Minuteman Station, deep space (29/05/2183)**

Miranda Lawson tried very hard to bring her nerves under control once again. The icy lump that settled deep in her stomach certainly did not help with that. She chastised herself for the inexcusable lack of self-control - after all, she was a trained, experienced ONI operative, who had received Δ-level training and had taken part in assignments that were considered borderline **Opera Night** level. She was handpicked by the Illusive Man for her talents and skills, and in all her years of service, she did not disappoint the leader of Cerberus. Those who knew her were very much aware that she was no longer a little girl or an awkward teenager - yet those few who _knew_ her would not have been surprised at her reaction.

She mentally reviewed her current assignment, catalogued her reports and plans, her mind running in circles trying to find the fault, the mistake, the error that necessitated _him_ , of all people, coming for a visit. No matter how hard she thought, she could not find anything - unless the leaders of Cerberus were unrealistic in their expectations about the progress of Lazarus. Sure, the Illusive Man was willing to sink immense amounts of resources into bringing Shepard back, but her team barely began the work - after all, they had to make a detailed schedule for the procedures, and actually purchase the required tools. So why was _he_ here?

With a flash of horrified insight, Miranda suspected with cold dread that yes, considering the insane standards she was expected to adhere to, her project was not progressing sufficiently well enough. And as the director, she would be expected to shoulder the responsibility of failure - even more because she knew quite well how much her colleagues actually performed, and that the pace they were setting was nothing short of punishing. Yet, for an irrational moment, she toyed with the idea of blaming any delays and issues on them - aware that this would only result in a more severe retribution later on, but that would be later … then she reined in the unworthy impulse, and forced herself into the cold, distant mentality she tended to adopt when dealing with people like her latest visitor.

The private yacht was on final approach, and she again, like so many times before, recited her usual mantra - at least this way, Oriana would be free from his attention. At least she could get a relatively normal life. At least she would be free to choose her own path. And Miranda would never allow her sister to even skirt the possibility of having to deal with _him_ , and risking being _replaced_. She thought back on those fleeting minutes, scant hours she managed to share with Oriana during the years - just the two of them, behaving like normal sibling, actual sisters … she mentally nodded, her resolve crystallizing once again. Yes, for those moments, for that one person she would endure whatever he had to throw at her.

The small vessel landed, and while the ramp lowered, she took three steps, snapping to attention, dimly aware that the rest of the personnel followed suit. The airlock irised open, and Henry Lawson stepped out, wearing a stylish, casual outfit as usual - though Miranda's experienced eyes spotted the small shield generator, the ballistic weave reinforcing the cloth, and she fought to suppress a wince. _He would not come dressed like this unless he expected trouble_.

"Welcome to Minuteman Station, sir." Her voice was crisp, polite, and perfectly deferential, as she saluted him.

The former minister nodded shallowly, his eyes taking in the people in attendance, his stance and gaze somehow predatory, hungry.

"At ease, Operative Lawson." He started off, and summoned her to his side with a gesture. A quick signal from Miranda dispersed the crowd, directing everyone back to their job. "I trust you can give me a tour and a detailed account of your progress?"

"Of course, sir."

The answering smile she got from him sent shivers along her spine with the sheer hungry menace radiating from it.

Touring the station took several hours, during which Miranda would have gladly traded for doing containment work on a Yutani-Yi reactor going critical, or fighting a Blood Pack kill-squad barehanded. The problem, she reflected, was that Henry Lawson was quite intelligent to keep up with her technical explanations, actually pushed her for obscure details even for those aspects that she knew he had barely the basic knowledge - and thus, he expected her to make him understand, without loss of information. She learned very early, and to much pain, that he sometimes liked to bait her by pretending ignorance.

So, she explained in detail, attentive to his every minuscule sign and prompt, catering to his whims without him having to do more than quirk an eyebrow. She learned fast, and she learned well under his harsh tutelage.

They talked over the necessary wetware and cyberware that would be employed to strengthen Shepard's body - the complex mesh of bone and muscle weaves, nanomachines, ocular and audio implants, subdermal armor, cleaned-up eezo nodule network, improved lungs - the list went on and on. Of course, this was the easy, routine part of the project - after all, it may have been expensive and rather broad in scope, but the only experimental procedure was the improvement on the eezo nodules. For a brief moment, she forgot who she was talking to, and actually suggested either giving that a lower priority, or omitting it outright, as it was not critical, and in her opinion, needlessly overcomplicated everything. The answering glance was enough to firmly shut down that line of thought.

The more esoteric and less-tried part of the project would be reversing or fixing the damage done to Shepard's brain - both by the haemorrhages caused by overexertion, and the lack of oxygen from a suit leak. Sure, they could try and use the clones for brain tissue, employ nanites, add cortical implants - and that, in her opinion, might solve the physical issues, but memories, experience, personality were a different matter entirely. Replicating those would be the real challenge - and they would be venturing into unknown territory, even considering the recent developments and studies published in Kathmandu.

Hesitantly, she provided him with the outline of planned procedures, the resource needs and timeline involved, as well as a short list of personnel whose expertise would be useful for the various stages of the project. To her surprise, after a brief deliberation, he complied with her suggestions, only adding an entry here and there, when some practical issues he knew of made her suggested options unavailable.

The security improvements were also discussed in-depth - though it was clear to both that the whole work would soon be moved to Lazarus Station, it was agreed that the remoteness of the location by itself was not sufficient in and of itself, and that other defensive measures would be needed. Staffing the station with humans raised the issue of secrecy and provisions, while mechs, no matter how hardened, were always susceptible to hacking and advanced infowarfare tricks. In addition, considering the nature of the Reapers, using mechs may have other drawbacks as well, in case they or their indoctrinated agents found out about Lazarus Station. For the time being, they tabled this issue, though Miranda knew that Henry Lawson expected a full, detailed solution from her posthaste.

After the gruelling hours of the inspection, back in the hangar bay, Miranda stood once again at attention, saluting him as he prepared to board his yacht. He stopped for a brief moment, his stance, his whole bearing shifting just a tiny bit, and Miranda's skin crawled as the hungry eyes drank in her figure, and she fought to remain calmly in place - she felt that should she give in to her instincts and flee, he would hunt her down and devour her, insane as the notion sounded. Even so, nothing could have prepared her for what happened next.

"You have done well, daughter." And with a nod towards Miranda, Henry Lawson boarded his ship, and left the station.

Back in her office, Miranda engaged the privacy measures, checked for any unwelcome presents her progenitor may have left for her, then allowed herself to slump down, the stress of the past hours catching up to her. She was not surprised at the cold sweat on her brow, or the uncontrollable shaking of her hands. She knew that she would have to make a report to the Illusive Man, and the more she delayed, the more she would have to explain, but she found herself not exactly caring this one time. She felt even more drained than usual when dealing with Henry Lawson - and the ever-present menace the man seemed to exude was somehow even stronger this day. She shuddered, as her treacherous mind replayed the small, seemingly innocuous incidents and gestures she had seen him make - and she frowned, concentrating.

Yes, there was something off about him. She could not point out the specific issue that tipped her off, it was likely a host of nigh-invisible signals even she would have missed on any other day, or in case of a shorter visit. She shivered again as her memory threw images at her consciousness - of the hungry, leering ghost of a smile on his lips, the menacing, insectile bearing when a sudden noise or motion was perceived, the raw hunger of his gaze, especially as he left… no, the more she thought about it, the more sure she was about her insane-seeming theory.

Still, she would have to take care with how to phrase it when she brought it to the Illusive Man - after all, her judgment was not exactly impartial when it came to Henry Lawson, and she had a vested interest in dealing with him… but even so, she felt compelled to point it out to her superior during their talk. At the very least, Miranda was sure that unlike Lawson, the Illusive Man would not punish her.

* * *

 **Tuchanka, contested Clan Urdnot territory (01/06/2183)**

Tali decided that she hated Tuchanka. And being who and what she was, the young quarian did so in a meticulous, passionate way, throwing her whole self into that emotion. No, the fact that she had come to be rather fond of her self-appointed uncle did not mitigate her feelings. Neither did the knowledge that what they were doing mattered. She also would not care about the benefits that came with her passing the insanity Clan Urdnot considered as their rite of passage - those were the most terrifying five minutes of her life; and she swore that she would somehow, somewhen take revenge on Wrex for omitting details about the whole thing. Still, she supposed she should not complain - after all, she survived, at the low cost of an impressive collection of bruises, and a minor suit leak easily fixed … and a thankfully small number of breeding requests, which still left her in quite the emotional turmoil.

She was getting distracted again. On one hand, that was infuriating - she had to focus on her current task, if she wanted to succeed on her own. On the other hand, it was a welcome distraction from the bleakness of her predicament - and she did honestly hate this planet. If she was honest, it was not because of the over-boastful, over-aggressive krogan. Or the deadly creatures that roamed unchecked. Or the oppressive heat. Those she could all deal with, one way or another. No, she decided that she hated Tuchanka for one reason, and one reason only - sand. The ever-present menace that was everywhere, and got into everything; including her suit filters, seals … and it made life so much more miserable.

With a mental headshake, Tali once again focused on her present situation, which sadly did not improve while she was busy swearing vengeance and eternal hatred on sand in general and Tuchankan sand in particular. Her eyes narrowed as she once again felt herself being distracted - that would not do at all. Even if her fingers danced over her omnitool with consummate speed and skill, adjusting minute parameters, following the progress of her little tool burrowing its way through the Blood Pack encryption.

Tali allowed herself a brief, vindictive chuckle. Sure, both she and the rest of the small Urdnot force were overwhelmed by the Blood Pack, their well-known viciousness and savagery surpassing even her imagination, as the mixed force of krogan, vorcha, and krork descended on the small, abandoned hospital they were assessing for the future experiments. Thinking back on the original briefing, Tali wondered why she seemed to be the only one who questioned using a hospital that was beyond the current safe area of Clan Urdnot - especially since there were a number of established hospitals in said area. Sure, there was some merit to having a more secluded, less obvious location for this project, and for sheltering the professor, but in Tali's opinion, all that could have been established at one of the existing sites.

But no, Wrex just chuckled in that infuriating way of his, and sent them off anyway, to see if the old, disused building complex could be renovated, the power plant restarted, and all the other myriad tasks of getting it back to fully operational status - and maybe more, as she suspected the old krogan had not simply asked her to go just because she eclipsed all Urdnot engineers when it came to dealing with dated tech.

Anyway, she once again chastised herself - even though her breaching program was making headway, and in her estimate, it would not be much longer before she could overwhelm the brutish encryption on her cell door. With a vicious smirk, she reflected on the stupidity of the Blood Pack who were kind enough to leave her spare, disguised omnitool, thinking that a frail, weaponless suit rat like her was absolutely no challenge or danger to them. Her smirk fell as she thought back on the fate of her krogan teammates - sure, they did give a worthy account of themselves, but they all died trying to repel the overwhelming numbers of attackers. If they were a good representation of Clan Urdnot warriors, then her honorary uncle just might be able to bend Tuchanka to his will.

As her programs were working on hacking the force cage and codelocks confining her to her cell, which in better days was one of the ICU chambers of the hospital, she considered how she might deal with the guards stationed at her cell, with a low-powered omnitool, and a single knife. If it were only vorcha or those krork-things, she believed herself to be capable of killing them, especially since she could count on the element of surprise. But her guards also included krogan, so it would be much, much harder. With effort, Tali suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically at that - there had to be less painful suicide methods than taking on Blood Pack krogan hand-to-hand. She was not Shepard, or Wrex - or even that bosh'tet Garrus; she was still just a teenage quarian reliant on her armored encounter suit to survive even in non-violent situations.

The crackling, static-laced sound of the internal comm system she successfully shut out from her conscious mind intruded rudely, as the boisterous, rough snarling that passed for communication among the Blood Pack gave way to howls of pain, the roar of flamethrowers, and the deep booming of an oversized handgun. For a moment, she was confused - there was no chance of reinforcements yet, and all of her party were dead, the mercenaries made very sure of that. Realization hit a moment later, and her jaw dropped. It could not be him, he was just an elderly academic! Then some of the pieces began to fall into place, and her eyes narrowed. Yes, the old salarian was just a doctor - who practiced his vocation on Omega, of all locations. Without being molested by the various thugs and mercenaries frequenting that hellhole. Wrex, of all people, seemed to handle him with grudging respect - and so did the rest of Clan Urdnot, come to think of it. Those things suggested two possibilities for his background, and since he was not a Spectre to her admittedly-limited knowledge, that meant STG.

Tali chuckled briefly. Of course he was former STG. Who else would be knowledgeable enough about the genophage, familiar enough with Tuchanka, and insane enough to actually come here, despite the vicious hatred krogan felt towards salarian. Still, that only meant that she did have capable backup - she was not a damsel in distress to lazily await rescue. That said, she paid more attention to the comm system, as well as her jailers, noting how they repositioned themselves to cover the entry points to the block, and she grudgingly had to admit that they seemed competent enough, if not up to MFM or Clan Urdnot standards. A notification blinked in her suit's HUD, and she swallowed. Two more minutes, and she would be free from the cell.

The shooting and screaming from the comm system died off, leaving the ICU in ominous silence, only broken by the growling communication between the half dozen Blood Pack members guarding her. That is, until the central vid screen lit up, showing an elderly salarian with part of a cranial horn missing. Tali's eyes narrowed at the image - something was off with his coloring, the image was strangely blurred, even more than the outdated, damaged system would warrant.

"What do you want, salarian?" The mercenary leader growled. "Why don't you give up, unless you want to see your little suitrat splattered all over her cell's walls."

"Demand noted, deemed insane ploy. Now, please release quarian or face consequences."

Deep, disbelieving laughter echoed in the block, and Tali considered - true, there was but one entrance, no windows, sewers, or air vents that would allow even a slim salarian entry. And while he did manage to cut through the rest of the pack, these bastards had a clear field of fire, and despite his skills, he was old, and age never spared the reflexes. Except maybe for Wrex, she mused for a brief second.

"Just try and get her, you hornless freak!"

A little less than a minute left - and maybe with her getting out, she could distract the guards enough for him to pull this off. Then Tali's eyes widened as the reinforced door irised open, and the hallway was instantly inundated with a storm of fire as the mercenaries opened fire. The hail of bullets and roaring of flames subsided after a few seconds. The lingering heat from the flamethrower did make it even harder to perceive, but Tali's eyes narrowed as she caught the tell-tale shimmer of a tactical cloak, before a small, metallic sound drew gazes from the more alert mercenaries - especially since it came from behind them, where a shimmering, distorted image of a salarian manifested seemingly from thin air.

The reflexes of the mercenaries were quite good, as the salarian was only halfway to aiming his oversized gun, before they riddled him with bullets, and a vorcha hosed him with a flamethrower - making the salarian dissipate into motes of light.

Three small omni-fabricated cylinders rolled into the mercenaries just when Tali's omnitool pinged, alerting her of the imminent breakthrough - just when the flashbangs exploded, and the whole hallway became a blinding, howling den of chaos. The split-second warning she had was enough for Tali to filter out the worst of it, allowing her to see the lithe figure of the salarian appear from under a tactical cloak next to one of the krogan, blow apart its skull with that oversized handgun, before aiming a kick at the vorcha with the flamethrower to light the other krogan on fire, then the second shot spattered the contents of the vorcha's skull all over the wall. His omnitool flared with an overload charge, and the fourth mercenary became a spasming marionette, before a shove sent the vorcha colliding with one of the krorks, the green brute's gun practically sawing its flailing comrade apart, before the slash of an omniblade sent the tusked head rolling - but the move cost both time and distance, and the last krork was raising its monstrous cannon, to blow both the professor and Tali to bits.

The mercenary roared in pained fury as Tali's thrown blade found one of its deep-seated eyes and sank in almost to the hilt - then the roar changed pitch to a tortured scream as the quarian's omnitool flashed, shorting its internal power but sending a very powerful charge of electricity straight into its brain.

Mordin Solus flashed a grin at the young quarian, as he reached out a hand to steady her.

"Nice work." A quick exhale. "As stated before: they never see me coming."

* * *

 **Asgard system, Exodus cluster (16/07/2183)**

The colony of Terra Nova was considered one of the crown jewels of the Systems Alliance, important both from economic and military reasons. Its vast shipyards were second only to those of the Sol system itself, the resources of the system, the proximity of Terra, and the constant presence of the Alliance Sixth Fleet all presented a very enticing destination for colonists - and naturally, all that resulted in Terra Nova becoming one of the highest priority targets for any possible enemy of the SA. Of course, the system was well-protected; a constantly-shifting pattern of patrol ships and elements of the Sixth Fleet (including a dreadnought and two carriers) were enough to discourage overt assaults, while detachments of N-level operatives, with a dozen N7 in command were considered ample deterrent for clandestine operations. The electronic systems were top-notch, the security personnel manning them thoroughly screened. Numerous countermeasures were taken to avoid infiltration attempts both to the electronic systems and the physical sites as well - firewalls, booby traps, tailored omni-viruses lying in dormancy, EMP hardening, shifting patterns of guard patrols, VI-controlled and human-monitored surveillance and control systems, and so forth. The presence of special operatives also meant that there were more esoteric methods employed as well, to prevent remote access, identify and dispose of intruders, and as additional constant sources of monitoring. A favorite target for N7 blood games and Navy tactical scenarios, the Terra Nova shipyard was considered only slightly easier pickings than Terra or Mars - an estimate that was also echoed by the Council, the Hegemony, and the Broker as well.

And that was just on normal days. When dignitaries came visiting, security levels were raised to almost full wartime readiness - especially when somebody like President Speer came personally, to oversee the launch of the first new _Everest_ -class dreadnoughts. The people responsible for defending and securing the system were justified in their confidence to repel frontal attacks or covert operations even simultaneously, regardless of which factions conducted said attempts ( _of course, they were fully unaware of the advanced, biomechanical surveillance devices deposited by loyal, fanatic agents as well as unfortunate, unaware catspaws - and that all data they stored about the past attempts and theoretical scenarios, along with patrol routes and current force disposition was monitored by the enemy_ ).

Due to the beefed-up security measures, increased naval presence, numerous AIS teams and Presidential protection details, everybody expected a very tiring, nerve-wracking, but ultimately peaceful few days. There was even an upswing in commercial vessels arriving, no doubt taking advantage of the additional security to deploy their precious cargo - not that there was too much of a chance of pirates or slavers attacking SA ships. After all, Torfan was still a potent, recent reminder of what humanity was willing and capable to do to those who would prey on them.

Later on, senate investigations and court martials would corroborate the belief of the system commanders, ultimately placing the responsibility to the shoulders of other people, not present in-system. Their decisions and actions would be by and large vindicated, the few faults committed ultimately negligible in the face of the unfolding disaster - and sadly, rather understandable. After all, they were only human. The inquiries by the Senate and the Fleet Master would lay the foundations for the shadowy struggle to be conducted in the coming months - with the Alliance still in the dark about the true nature of their enemies and the capabilities they possessed.

Not a single operator in Flight Control took extra notice of the slowly maneuvering bulk freighter closing towards the docking area. It had peacefully followed instructions, provided the proper codes and clearances, the customs team did not report anything unusual or suspicious on board ( _their bodies were never found, their screams and the sounds of combat swallowed by hypertech jamming devices, their identities usurped upon return by operatives loyal to another cause_ ).

The MSV _Dresden_ headed for final approach unmolested, well clear of the military docks housing the SSV _Everest_ and SSV _Annapurna_ , as well as the four almost-finished new carriers. The pilot of the oversized civilian vessel was careful to precisely follow instructions, projecting the image of a sufficiently overawed and cowed civilian. That is, until the pre-arranged signal arrived ( _the strange, soul-grating atonal shriek was akin to the buzzing wings of an immense biomechanical swarm, fully undetectable unless fitted with custom augmentations in the central nervous system_ ).

The busy, ant-like scurrying of the orbital dockyard was broken as the huge bulk freighter turned into a brilliant, expanding ball of fire, debris, and electronic jamming - blinding all watching personnel and nearby monitoring equipment, rendering the emerging assault shuttles practically invisible. The waves of multi-frequency jamming and garbage data also masked the vicious automated worms burrowing deep into the VI systems struggling to compensate for the sudden overwhelming data flow. The biomechanical and augmented operators howled in their couches and at their workstations, as the hungry claws of malicious code reached into their selves, turning cyberbrains, artificial limbs, biotech and high-tech enhancements against their owners, frying nerves, muscles, flesh - when not turning the unfortunates into helpless marionettes silently screaming within their own minds.

Simultaneously, hundreds of firefights erupted as previously calm, everyday residents of the system turned on those in their vicinity, guns and omniblades reaping a toll of blood from the unwary before the rioters were put down - and it would be only later that the holographic tattoo of the interlocked, broken hexagons would be found on their bodies, the only common link between them, apart from traces of nanoscale tampering.

The assault shuttles swarmed towards the military docks, three for each capital ship. The defense grid ignored them, as it was still in the middle of waging a war in cyberspace against itself, the various emplacements unable to track, to lock on, or fire - in hindsight, that particular bit of coding would be praised as the most crucial reason the attackers were not able to turn the defense grid against the planet or the orbitals.

Aboard the dreadnoughts and carriers still tethered to the docks, frantic skeleton crews raced to contain the onboard Yutani-Yi reactors that were on their way to awakening thanks to the alien signal battering down security measures and flooding the ship systems with contradicting impulses. Captain Langley aboard the _Everest_ laid the foundation of her future fame when she ordered the computers shut down less than a minute into the attack, and executed and emergency micro-FTL jump two minutes afterwards, clearing the comparatively short range of the alien signal, and containing her vessel's reactor. The other five ships were not so fortunate. The _Eisenstein_ perished in an explosion of dark flames, the dying screams of her crew and the malevolent atonal shrieking of the awakened shoggoth battering at the minds of those nearby. The _Tsiolkovsky_ slipped from her berth, erratically firing maneuvering thrusters to keep itself from plummeting into the gravity well of Terra Nova, while her crew fended off the attacking batarians and fought to contain the reactor. The _Annapurna_ became a slaughterhouse, as six assault shuttles full of elite batarian shock troopers and biotics charged its crew and the presidential security detachment onboard, the chaotic firefight turned into a bloodbath when the reactor containment imploded, birthing numerous abominations across the ship. The _Dyson_ tore free from her docking slip, her dark shape sliding with a stately grace towards Terra Nova, while aboard batarians and humans alike were drowned under the tidal wave of darkness, teeth, power and malice that was an enraged shoggoth, before the self-destruct tore the ship into pieces, turning it into a shower of meteors that burned up in the atmosphere. The _Komarov_ , similar to the _Everest_ , vanished with the pseudo-motion of an FTL jump, only to turn into a brief, yawning vortex of unsane colors and shrieking insanity a fraction of a second later, as its reactor containment failed catastrophically, hurling all into the depths of the n-dimensional space.

The naval vessels tasked with defending the system were presented with another threat when fortress asteroid X-57 lit up its fusion drives, and began to accelerate towards the shipyard and the planet. The surface of the asteroid saw vicious battle, as heavily cyberized batarian shock troopers in black armor fought with fanatical determination to hold off Alliance marines attempting to retake the drive control stations before the batarians could slag the controls. Flashes of explosions, both mundane and biotic lit up the small planetoid, as the four-eyed aliens received reinforcements in the form of LOKI and JOTUN mechs that poured from another ore container. Later investigation would determine that the mechs and batarians alike managed to get to the asteroid in storage containers that were equipped with highly sophisticated jamming tech that fooled both electronic and esoteric security measures - and since the ore haulers were cleared by customs, the dirtside inspection was cursory, only conducted with scanners; after all, empty containers on a planetoid which doubled as mining station were not exactly a rare occurrence.

The fusion torches pushed the asteroid onto a collision course with the dockyard - and the ranking survivor of the marine detachment, all too aware of the extent the batarians managed to sabotage the controls and the guidance systems, signalled for the system defense fleet to open fire, hoping that volleys of mass accelerator rounds and torpedoes might be enough to crack X-57 apart rendering the danger of an extinction-level kinetic strike manageable. The first shots were fired scant minutes later, as the SSV _Shasta_ reached extreme range - and in fifteen minutes it became quite evident that without resorting to C-type bombardment, there was practically no chance of breaking apart the asteroid in time. Captain Feige's decision to request permission for using bombardment shells may have been a grievous mistake in other circumstances - however, the SSV _Everest_ dropped out from FTL within range of X-57, and Captain Langley's reckless gambit of firing her vessel's positron cannon while rerouting all power from the reactor paid off, and the asteroid broke apart when the immensely powerful beam hit the site of the previous volley. However, the small victory was not without cost, as the safety interlocks of the _Everest_ 's reactor failed, releasing the already partially awake and murderous shoggoth. Despite severe losses to her crew and suffering several wounds (including the loss of the left eye, the right arm, and being partially consumed), Captain Langley managed to contain the rampaging shoggoth until an N7 team could be dispatched to finish the job.

Beyond the system's edge, lurking outside the detection range of the defensive installations and patrol ships, Ka'hairal Balak was considering the results of the attack, and concluded that while they did not fully achieve their goals, the Hegemon would likely allow him to live. Based on the intercepted and decrypted messages, their raid managed to critically wound the human president Speer, the dockyards were heavily damaged, the capital ships to be launched were either destroyed or at the very least extensively damaged, putting more strain on the remaining Alliance shipyards. Also, the raid did verify the capabilities and willingness of the allies of the Hegemony - and Balak was forced to admit to himself that they impressed him. Both the Broker's people and the Collectors provided excellent tactical and strategic advantages via intel, equipment and specialists, yet deep down, the batarian Captain wondered what they would demand for the undeniably useful assistance. He just prayed to the Pillars that the Hegemon was wiser and more far-seeing than himself, and could avoid any potential pitfalls and intrigues.

The repercussions of the attack again shook the delicate status quo - the Alliance descended into internal power struggles, as its leaders fought for the Presidency. The previously tolerated members of Cerberus were hunted down, forced into hiding, as evidence of their organization's involvement came to light, whipping the populace into a frenzy that Terra Firma did not fail to capitalize upon. The officer cadre, especially the upper echelons, were scrutinised and purged, as Fleet Master Sheridan cracked down on all who were perceived to be less than zealous in their adherence to the unspoken humanity first tenet ( _strangely, very few noticed that with few exceptions, the previously-capable victims of the purge vanished after their trials_ ).

In Vancouver, General Erwin von Ungern-Sternberg noted the events with grim satisfaction and swore that the sacrifice of his people at Terra Nova would not be in vain.

Henry Lawson, former Minister of Education, committed suicide when the first outcry against Cerberus was raised.

And those sensitive to the currents of aetheric origins, or n-dimensional physics, dreamt of the ancient pyramid rendered long to dust, and the laughter of the unnamed pharaoh who was entombed within.


	25. Chapter 17

**Nos Astra, Ilium (18/07/2183)**

Liara T'Soni felt torn between worry and wrath while she perused the latest intelligence updates about the Systems Alliance. In the past few months, she was forced to gain a rather closer insight into human minds and politics than she would have deemed possible before the Saren Crisis, and in her (perhaps biased, she thought with a slight blush) humans, for all their apparent and deep-seated flaws, were in many ways worthier and more admirable than her own kind. And just when she contemplated officially, publicly voicing her opinions on the extranet as well as her SA contacts, something like the Asgard Atrocity happens.

No, she was in no way immune to the plight of the suffering citizens - in fact, she had already discreetly channeled a substantial amount of resources from her personal portfolio into a relief fund the Alliance set up. She also could not but admire the sheer determination and valor of the system's defenders, the workers and ordinary citizens who already struggled to rebuild what they could, salvaging wrecks for raw materials, rescuing survivors, cleaning up hazardous materials and creatures (admittedly, the latter she only knew because of her own unique circumstances). However, the political ramifications were utterly infuriating and shortsighted in her opinion - already, there were riots when people demanded swift, genocidal reactions against the Hegemony, or even against the uncaring Council and its associates, who were just standing by and letting humanity bleed for them. The fact that Sparatus decried the batarian aggression hours after the attack happened and offered logistical and military assets, that Tevos offered access to the disaster recovery funds of the Council, that Zaal'Koris was ready to send quarian engineers to assist or that Valern directed both the STG and Spectre operatives to find and punish the perpetrators - all these were summarily ignored, never mind Udina's stance and calls for cooperation. In fact, there were distressing voices from the SA Parliament that demanded the recall of Udina from his post, and for the SA to wholly abandon the Council. Fortunately, sanity seemed to prevail, and these voices were in a minority - yet the mere fact that barely half a year after all the SA in general and Shepard in particular sacrificed for achieving the membership, such voices could be heard at all was more than distressing.

The military was closing ranks under Fleet Master Sheridan, his push for an interim martial law and military government was met with fierce resistance (again, resulting in riots, shootings, and killed civilians) - and while Liara did not particularly like the rather speciesist officer, at least he'd not neglect preparation for the imminent arrival of the Reapers. Unfortunately, she concurred with her analysts that the whole SA would likely be embroiled in a power struggle that had the potential to escalate into full-on civil war. And what frightened and infuriated her the most was that nobody seemed to consider that this may have very well been the whole reason some unknown player (likely the same that took direct action at Alchera) lent so much support to the batarians.

Her eyes narrowed, as she contemplated the report, then at the spurring of some half-buried instinct not entirely her own, she started referencing earlier data, looking for certain patterns, actions guided by seemingly illogical beliefs and hunches of prominent figures - and after several hours, the young information broker believed she found enough evidence to bring to the attention of those scant few SA personnel she dared trust in times like these. With a start, she realized guiltily that she'd have to reassess the SA, especially Cerberus-affiliated personnel of her fledgling firm. Even if she was confident of their loyalties, she did not know them all personally - well, except for Leng, and his partner, Jacqueline. Liara figured the ex-N7 could and would give her a hand in quietly double-checking the reliability of the personnel, and to be on the safe side, she'd contact Hackett as well, her experiences and memories all prompting her to trust the admiral. The asari also considered contacting Agent Lawson as well - while she did not know the AIS agent very well, she was aware that the woman was very dedicated to the same goals for which Shepard went to such absurd lengths, was privy to similar secrets and powers as Shepard, was working hard on getting Shepard back into the fight, and …

And she really should have known better than to dwell on things that might have been or still might be - unless Fate decided to play a merry game with them. Feelings, emotions were sometimes a liability in all jobs, more so for an information broker - yet she could not entirely shake them off when the mostly-dead Spectre was involved. Especially when she dealt with issues or people that were even tangentially connected to him. Perhaps it was still the lingering aftereffect of that brief, glorious, and horrific glimpse she was allowed into his mind - and once again, Liara decided to consult a trustworthy Matron or Matriarch for advice about such effects of involuntary melds. But there was so much to do, and with a sigh, she turned her attention back towards the multiple screens of information, contacts, projections and forecasts on her desk, fully intent to bury herself in work again - if only to shove aside bitter memories and dreams.

She was interrupted when a hand landed lightly on her shoulder - and she almost jumped out of her skin, even though she rationally knew that it could belong to only one person. Still, the laconic drell had an uncanny ability to fade into the background, being practically invisible; and Liara prayed to the Goddess that she would never have a need to see his skills being used first-hand. Looking into the bodyguard's onyx eyes, she swallowed, a cold dread settling in her core, a gesture of her omnitool ordering her VI to push sensitive files to pre-designed, well-encrypted offsite storage locations, as well as her omnitool.

"We got trouble." The deep, raspy voice was quiet, calm; he might have been talking about the weather on a distant planet. "Prepare yourself."

Before Liara could even start gathering information or her power, the whole building seemed to shudder as a muffled, distant explosion from somewhere down sent shockwaves into the sturdy structure. Lights and screens flickered for a moment, then changed focus to the internal security cameras at a gesture from the drell. It took Liara an eternal second to fully absorb what she was seeing. Black-clad feminine figures swirled into the offices, fading in and out of sight, their blades removing limbs, biting into flesh with a vicious, eager glee. No faces were visible under the masks the attackers wore, yet, they seemed to radiate an eager, psychotic glee as they massacred the surprised employees of Liara, few of whom could muster any kind of effective defense against such a surprise assault. And those that did manage to fight off or kill their shadowy attackers were dealt with by a masked man and his tattooed companion. Liara's biotics pulsed with fury as she fought to regain control of herself in the face of this betrayal.

"We are leaving, Lady T'Soni." The drell motioned with his omnitool, and stumbled, his eyes ocean-deep pools of black suffering. A fraction of a second later, the tide of sheer, utter _wrongness_ , of unnatural, soul-devouring cold hit Liara as well, driving the primal part of her being into full panic. The temperature seemed to fall, waves of nausea threatened to overwhelm the tattered remains of her self-control while she struggled not to curl into a fetal position weeping and clawing her eyes out. Dark spots danced in her vision, her biotics sputtered as her consciousness teetered on the brink of the abyss. She was once again the small child, the helpless captive of a Prothean barrier curtain, a prey animal paralyzed by the apex predator intent on devouring her. Perhaps she would be better off just letting go, fleeing deep into her memories from the _thing_ that battered on her sanity and self with lashing, vicious vortices. Perhaps she should have incinerated herself with her biotics - it would definitely end the pain knifing into her soul much faster. Perhaps she could have even thrown herself from the window of her office, and let the height and gravity do the rest. All these would surely have been more merciful than the fate awaiting her.

Yet something deep within her resisted. Maybe it was a spark of golden warmth briefly glimpsed in her memories. Or the image of a man who might become as close to her as she dreamed of. Or maybe it was her own self, the daughter of the late Benezia T'Soni, the heir of her legacy reasserting itself. At any rate, it was a moot point. The important part was that by the time a warp field ate a hole into her office door, she did manage to get herself somewhat under control - certainly well enough to call up her biotics and deflect the four monomolecular-edged disks aimed at her and her bodyguard.

Liara barely managed to control her terror, revulsion and fury as Kai Leng and Jacqueline entered the room, preceded by a wall of biotic force she barely managed to dissipate before it could pulp both herself and Thane - then the drell was no longer at her side, but embroiled in a whirling dance of death with Leng. Liara's eyes narrowed at Jacqueline, as the woman deployed four more of the hyperedged disks, a feral yet somehow distant, vacant look in her eyes. Then her corona ignited, and the asari fell into the timeless, fragmentary perception of combat, her mind only able to record impressions and the occasional detail while she fought with every erg of power against the tattooed woman and the lapping waves of _wrongness_ , terror, and nausea that seemed to emanate from Kai Leng.

The young asari half-heard the taunting remarks, interspersed with the booming of handguns that accompanied the duel between Thane and Leng - and she occasionally caught a glance at the edge of her vision of how the drell managed to stay in one piece against a sword which could and did cut through flesh, armor, and biotic barrier alike. And yet Thane easily turned it aside just enough to avoid it, simply hitting the flat of the blade with a precise biotic field - or just his hands, wreathed in the same energy. Amidst the whirling dance, the drell even had more than enough situational awareness to deny any chance to Kai Leng for joining his partner, or getting a viable opportunity to shoot Liara - when Thane was even a bit out of position, those uncannily precise biotics of his pulsed, moving the human's weapon just a bit aside, hurling small objects at him or in the way; then the drell was on him, once again, fist wreathed in biotic force, pistol spewing death at the ex-N7. Yet for all his skill and experience, Leng was matching him, never letting up, not giving the drell an opportunity to focus his deadly attention on Jacqueline, or to assist Liara in any meaningful way.

The two biotics weaved a dance of their own as well, as they flung biotic fields at one another, turned the furniture into makeshift projectiles or shields, fought desperately over the control of the deadly disks - and the longer they went at it, the more Liara had to respect the abilities of her opponent. Sure, she had more raw power - as an asari, especially as a scion of House T'Soni, that was inevitable. She had several decades more of practical experience, naturally - despite being young for an asari, she was still more than thrice the woman's age. Yet Jacqueline has been molding herself (or was purposefully shaped) into a weapon, honing her skills for exactly this kind of confrontation. A year ago, Liara would not have lasted a minute against her, but after fighting alongside Shepard's crew, she did manage to put up rather more of a fight than their attackers obviously estimated. The opposing biotic fields tore apart furniture, melted or cut apart walls, windows, the concussive detonations of shockwaves and biotic explosions several times threatening to hurl the combatants to their deaths. Singularities and lift fields tried to turn their opponent into helpless, floating targets, biotic punches and kicks were deflected by barriers and stop-hits, and neither of the two powerhouses could spare the brief seconds of concentration and calmness to utilize a stasis field.

Liara swayed aside from a disk aimed at her throat, blocked a throw field with a singularity, redirected another disk towards Leng, embedded the third halfway into the wall, the fourth managed to cut through her barrier and tore into her armored coat, drawing a line of purple from her skin - and she barely managed to throw it away with a pulse of biotics before monofilament wires snapped out from it, seeking her flesh. The young asari melted the fifth into slag with a lucky warp field, the sixth was sent careening off by a shot from Thane, the last two stopped midway between her and Jacqueline for seconds - then the stalemate was broken by the violent destabilization of the opposed biotic fields, the explosion forcing all four of them to pause and shield themselves. A momentary pause followed while reassessing the situation - then Kai Leng smiled, a broken, horrific thing of metal and malice, before he nodded with grudging respect towards Thane and Liara.

Time seemed to slow down even further for the asari, as she saw Leng form words, the sound distorted, queasy, like a nail driven into her brain - she could not understand the drawn-out words fully, but she could feel the power and nauseating, utter _wrongness_ pull back like the ocean before an incoming tidal wave. And to make things worse, Liara could hear running steps closing from outside - very likely the surviving masked killers were coming to join the fight, and even one of them would be more than enough to take her and Thane out.

The wild hope of the explosive combat bringing in the Nos Astra police was dashed as soon as Liara thought of it - after all, despite the bloodshed, it was still contained within a single company building, not endangering the populace at large … and at that moment, she made her decision.

"... field, full ..." Leng's rasping, mocking whisper clawed at her sanity, urging her to flee, to cower, to buckle down and weep - then Liara reached out with her biotics towards Thane, then with a cry of effort, flung both herself and the drell from the window, her corona blazing, a golden heat igniting for the brief seconds of flight somewhere in the back of her brain - then with a half-bitten painful scream, they landed on the pavement about two dozen floors down from her office. Before she could even get her bearings, Thane was already in motion, guiding and pulling her along into the depths of Nos Astra's alleys, towards a safehouse he established there.

The warning from Miranda Lawson arrived scant hours later to her omnitool.

* * *

 **Omega, Sahrabarik system (22/07/2183)**

Most days, Bray enjoyed his work. Pay was good, the perks were excellent, and Aria was a definitely saner boss than the Hegemon or his ilk. Sure, she had a vicious, mean streak lightyears wide, she was ruthless to the point of cruelty, she only made an example of those who failed her without exceedingly good reason, and she only had two eyes - but for all that, she was intelligent, listened, and sometimes even accepted that her subordinates could not foresee or control the chaos that often erupted in Omega. Well, and of course as long as you did not break the famed Rule of Omega, she tended to leave you well enough alone.

Sadly, Bray thought that this would not be one of those happy, usual days. No, when the situation was already precarious with the three largest mercenary groups quietly conspiring behind Aria's back (as if Bray's people would not notice it), the Council just had to add two of its Spectres to the mix. All in all, the day was promising to be highly entertaining (from the skewed view of his boss/CEO/Queen, whatever she would feel like that day) and akin to a terrifying tightrope walk over lava-dwelling predators (in his own modest estimate). He tried to cheer himself up with the prospect of unleashing violence on those idiot mercs who were responsible for so much of his daily headaches, and the fact that he'd have a front row seat while Aria and the Spectres haggled. On second thought, he realized that said front row seat was more of a curse than a perk - if things escalated, he'd be practically at ground zero. Fun times, as usual. With a short but heartfelt prayer to the Pillars of Strength, Bray went to meet his destiny and entered the Afterlife.

The pounding music, swirling crowd, writhing dancers delivered the usual punches to the senses, yet Bray was sufficiently used to it after the years that he could pick up the much subtler signs and moods - and what he felt now was not to his liking at all. There was a conspicuous lack of mercs at the place, except for the usual few turians of Nyreen's Talons. His pulse quickened, as he rapidly typed on his omnitool, pulling up the latest intel reports from on-station. The lack of warning flags, of suspicious troop concentrations, of anything indicating that the three main merc leaders were doing anything out of the ordinary would have relaxed him on other days. Not today; in fact, he got even more worried about missing or simply not seeing something blindingly obvious and dangerous. Maybe if he had time, he could have puzzled it out - but when he reached Aria's usual box, he had to attend his boss, and shelve his worries. At least he hoped that the Spectres would be sane enough not to begin a fight.

The two Council operatives had a rather thick dossier, and Bray mentally ran through the contents he memorized, assessing the Spectres, trying to estimate how much of that dossier was factual, and how much was rejected from a Blasto screenplay for excessiveness. His quick conclusion was that both Nihlus Kryik and Tela Vasir probably were, if anything, underestimated in the reports - and he mentally winced at the likely fate of the less-than-thorough analysts sure to feel Aria's displeasure. At least it would not be him, and judging by the familiarity between the two asari, it may not amount to more than harsh words and a paycut.

"So, Aria, are you willing to accept our more than generous offer?" Tela's eyes twinkled with mirth, as she lounged back with deliberate carelessness, and even Bray needed a second to spot the signs of tension and alertness in the Spectre's posture. She was good at playing the indolent, slightly empty-headed hedonistic asari, that was for sure.

"You still haven't told me why I really should - or how exactly I would benefit from it, dear." Aria's voice was bored, her whole being screaming indifference. Except for those who knew her as closely as Bray did.

Nihlus grinned, his mandibles flaring in a predatory expression.

"Because we should not have to spell it out for you, Queen of Omega." The slight, somewhat mocking emphasis on the title had to be deliberate, and around them, Aria's guards inside the privacy field stiffened at the insult. "You have to have access to the same reports, or near enough, and you have been around for far longer than most. I would be surprised if you did not see the situation as clearly as we do."

Aria's voice was a frosty whisper, silk sliding along the naked eyeball.

"Yes, I am well aware of how deep in shit your precious Council is, Nihlus. That does not mean I give a damn about helping you, especially without compensation." She smiled then, showing teeth. "This is Omega, not a charity event on the Citadel. You have to do better than this if you want my cooperation, Spectre."

Tela Vasir laughed then, and Bray tensed, ready for violence at the sheer predatory sound.

"You have been playing the Queen too long, Aria. Think like a commando would - or better yet, think like you yourself would, if you had delusions of grandeur and plans for galactic domination." She sipped from her glass. "Don't you dare tell me you cannot perceive the puppets moving on the table. Not unless your chief lackey is an idiot" - Tela gestured towards Bray - "and idiots do not survive for over two decades at your side."

"That still does not tell me why you want to turn Omega into a damn fortress, station Citadel forces here, and expect me to be happy about it."

Nihlus took over.

"Because if our information from the Thessian archives and our associates in the SA is correct, the Collectors were involved kicking off this whole shitstorm when they destroyed Shepard's ship." The predatory grin made another appearance on the turian's visage. "And they tend to come via the Omega-4 relay. Do I need to spell it out in more detail?"

Tela.

"If they come in force, darling, you can bet your sweet ass that we will not hesitate in denying the station to them, if need be." The asari Spectre's eyes lit up with an almost manic fire. "Think how happy the Justicars will be when they are unleashed on your little kingdom, with the Council Fleet supporting them."

Aria glared at her, then at Nihlus, when the turian took over once more.

"We would prefer working with you, because you know are a known, sane quantity, and we would not have to waste resources in pacifying Omega." He raised a hand placatingly. "I know, it would be very costly, and that you could kill most of us in a duel. But you and your petty kingdom would fall sooner rather than later. Because this time, if we were to go to war against Omega, we would not care about casualties, costs, or the pacts you made with the Terminus warlords or Council politicians." The turian's smile was a tired, worn thing.

The two Spectres spoke in uncanny harmony, as only long-time, close comrades could

"We will secure Omega, no matter the cost. Do you want to be Queen of the station, or a spirit haunting the ruins, lamenting her former power? What shall it be, Aria T'Loak?"

The slow, sarcastic clapping of Aria defused the tension, as she leaned back and relaxed on her couch.

"Very nice. Very dramatic. How long did you practice it, I wonder."

"Not that long, Nihlus is very good at following orders when properly motivated." After the years in close proximity to Aria, the constant exposure to Afterlife, Bray thought himself immune to the traditional asari charms. With a simple sentence, a languid stretch, and a smoking gaze, none of them directed at him, Tela Vasir convinced him of how mistaken he was. Then again, she had been doing this for over a century, so perhaps he could be forgiven.

"Suppose I agree to this little idea of yours, because I happen to think that you see the situation correctly." Aria began, her tone and posture studiously nonchalant. "Why is your shadowy associate not involved in this, Tela? Why do the intelligence briefings and purchased reports not contain anything from the Broker Network?"

The two Spectres shared a glance, and Bray's breath caught at the implications. His mind raced, cursing himself for missing this small but in hindsight obvious factor of the latest briefings, then his eyes went wide, as he went a few steps further, his hand twitching towards his omnitool to confirm his fears.

"Because there is no way the batarians could have pulled off something like Terra Nova without the Broker getting at least hints. And considering how it affected the usual status quo, the Broker should have given advance warning, or at least, hints about the juicy bit of information he had for sale. Yet he was totally quiet about the whole thing, and there hasn't been much substantial information off the Network since the attack." Tela Vasir's eyes burned with barely-contained rage. "Do the math, Aria. He's either dead, or in bed with the enemy."

Aria's answer died in her throat as the station shuddered minutely, and Bray's omnitool flashed a warning. The batarian checked it, not caring about protocol or dangerous overreactions, and his eyes went wide. A gesture projected the images to the conference table, and he could hear Nihlus murmur a curse, while both Aria and Tela looked mutely, the Queen's eyes twin pools of infernal wrath.

On screen, a howling, berserk green tide wearing the colors of the Blood Pack swarmed from the depths of Omega, overwhelming the defenders, killing and destroying indiscriminately in their path. Crackling with strange energies, the feral roar of the krork mob and their krogan leaders were still drowned out by the never-ceasing gunfire and the whine of vibro-weapons brandished in green fists. The view from the docks showed the Eclipse troops, augmented with strangely-modified JOTUN mechs sporting unfamiliar insignia, overpowering Aria's defenders, storming the ships, getting control over the docked vessels, and more importantly, the orbital defenses, while their engineers immediately set to fortifying the access points.

The security systems glitched out more and more often as the Blue Sun cyberwarfare specialists took over subsystem after subsystem; their hacking programs, worms and viruses orders of magnitudes more efficient and intelligent than those of Aria's best hackers - and the Queen of Omega never skimped on cybersecurity. Yet now, firewalls presented at best a speedbump for the attackers, and Bray had barely enough time to send out a few commands and warnings to their troops before the console built into the table lit up with a sickly yellow light, and the deep, basso rumble sounded.

" **I AM ASSUMING CONTROL OF THIS STATION**."

For a moment, there was a stunned silence, then the lights flickered, and the screaming started, as the gates of Afterlife yawned open, and the swarm of the Blood Pack flooded the club, their howls for blood creating an unholy symphony with the agonized cries of wounded and dying defenders, the constant weapon fire, and the explosions of biotic fields.

Bray checked his sidearm and shield generator with a stoic calmness, sure that he'd be dead within a minute, two tops. Around him, the few bodyguards considered part of the inner circle did the same. Aria and the two Spectres looked more pissed off and wrathful than anything. Biotic energy sparked off both asari, and Nihlus was checking something on his omnitool, before nodding towards Aria.

"Our ship's still secure. We can get you out of here."

The Queen of Omega rounded on him, her eyes raging oceans of power and fury, a biotic-wreathed fist raised to backhand the offending turian. Tela interposed herself, her gaze deceptively calm, her biotic corona tightly controlled, with barely a spark showing, as opposed to Aria's blazing wrath.

"Don't be an idiot, Aria. Not even you can take on this horde - and we will need you now more than ever. Both for your power and for your knowledge." The asari Spectre's voice was tightly controlled, yet Bray could hear the underlying anger, much colder and more controlled than that of his boss. "And then we can return, get rid of these interlopers - so you can be Queen of Omega once again."

For an eternal heartbeat, Bray tensed, as he was sure Aria would not take it well, and lash out - and he would follow her, as he swore so long ago he would. Even into certain death, and beyond. Sanity prevailed, though - and with a cry of frustrated anger, Aria T'Loak, Queen of Omega, channeled her wrath against those who rose up against her and invaded her sanctum. The walls of Afterlife buckled as the vortex of biotic power roared within, gravity going insane within the confines of the club, crushing Blood Pack members and civilians alike, warping the building's structure, tearing apart everything - and amidst the storm of unleashed power, Aria walked, her face a mask of cold contempt, while behind, Tela strained to shield the rest of them from the Queen's wrath while they made their way towards the ship and escape.

* * *

 **Location: various (17-24/07/2183)**

The galactic community, still feeling the aftereffects of the Saren Crisis, was sent once again reeling when the events at Terra Nova became public knowledge. Alliance politicians and military leaders may have wished and tried to prevent the leaking, but even such persons knew the ultimate futility of those half-hearted efforts.

The blow to the SA warmachine, though by no means fatal, was still severe. The losses both in material and lives, however tragic, were dwarfed by the implications of how the batarians managed to pull off such an act. The internal uproar threatened to tear the Alliance apart, as the purges and witch hunts spun rapidly into being, then out of control, as the need for scapegoats threatened to overwhelm common sense.

Cults popped up seemingly overnight, prophets and demagogues proclaiming apocalyptic vision, exhorting the masses for seceding from the Council and turning inwards, for purging unbelieving heretics and incompetent traitors responsible for the loss of life, for submitting fully to the Council and ask for their help. These were, of course, the expected, controllable groups. Far more insidious were the slowly-worming congregations who now flexed their muscles in the halls of power, exerting far more subtle influence than previously credited - and unsurprisingly, their aim was towards the institutions and people specifically designated to combat their influence.

The N7 Deltas and the AIS came under fire for not being able to prevent or predict the assault, or that the batarians would get their hands on tools powerful enough to pull off such a spectacular feat. They were also criticized for not containing the catastrophic reactor failures in time, thus resulting in galactic scrutiny on the previously well-kept secret of the Yutani-Yi reactors and their internal specifics. Simultaneously, that technology itself came under fire, for the glaringly obvious insanity and dangers involved, as so well demonstrated above Terra Nova. Talking heads, pundits, and experts alike ranted about a return to the days of fire and insanity a hundred years in the past, when the vanguard of humanity's special forces fought to secure Terra itself from the depredations of the denizens of Irem and Leng, and the esoteric forces supporting those inhuman beasts. Of course, the incompetence of today's relevant agencies was a result of them being co-opted by the last remnants of those dark cults and beings, a fact helped by the secretive and isolated nature of the institutions and operatives. Obviously, both the N7 Deltas and the AIS would need a closer, more open oversight, from upstanding citizens of unassailable morals and sanity. After all, humanity would not allow itself to be dragged back down into the Dark Age!

The military was harshly criticized for not responding quickly and decisively enough, for not wiping out the batarians years ago, for being so hidebound in rules and procedures that a dreadnought captain had to ask permission for firing on an asteroid that was a clear and present danger (nevermind that Captain Feige, like most sane people, was uncomfortable deploying C-type shells in a situation where their effects might have spread to the civilian populace). In the sake of fairness, other personnel were pilloried for not following due process and risking a substantial asset in hare-brained stunts (ignoring the fact that Captain Langley's actions were found to be fully reasonable, had decidedly positive results, and were grounded in established emergency protocols usually confined to theoretical training scenarios for the sheer unlikelihood of them happening). And then there was the failure of ONI to consider as well - if the agency could not notice the batarian special forces moving in such scale, what good was it? After all, everyone was sure that the squints could not pull off such an operation without extensive and obvious preparations, and the ONI was in place to specifically monitor and predict such events.

Internally, Fleet Master Sheridan and Director Bergman were scrambling to find and plug the leaks and security risks, purging their organizations from deserving liabilities and useful assets alike amidst the public furor. Sure, both of them had more than enough sense to spirit away those subordinates they considered victims of circumstance - yet they did so to build their own powerbase. They were only human - and that showed in how the purges did seem to hit a fair number of known opponents of both in their respective organizations. Simultaneously, both battled for the public opinion as well, with Sheridan advocating a more militarized stance to deliver vengeance on the batarians and preempt such tragedies from occurring ever again, and Bergman opposing him, urging for caution and rebuilding. Interestingly, both of them had scathing opinions on those who wanted to secede from the Council; Sheridan argued that the other races had their own grudges against the batarians and humanity would be foolish to bleed alone when turians were just itching for an excuse to smash the Hegemony - while Bergman reasoned that the aid and support from the Council races were invaluable to rapidly recover from the severe wound dealt by the attack. Both also agreed, publicly and vocally, that to abandon the Council so soon would be a grave insult towards everyone who sacrificed their lives for the Alliance attaining the position on the Council.

Of course, there was also the matter of Cerberus. The supposedly black project gone wrong, those involved driven insane or simply just being allowed to let go of their inhibitions, to conduct an orchestra of terrorist acts and mayhem from suicide bombings and assassinations on Terra, to bombings on the Citadel, attacks on outlying colonies with WMDs (including blowing up a Yutani-Yi reactor), and random assaults against nonhumans as far as Ilium. While the existence of such a group did not entirely surprise people, the seemingly vast resources it had at its disposal had been a nasty shock. To be able to strike at so many locations practically simultaneously, with such numbers and high-tech equipment was more than enough to give birth to rumors about the organization not being so rogue as the SA government would say - and due to the circumstances, this was not a claim that could be easily dismissed. The Spectre Corps and STG alike wanted to get access to any investigation into Cerberus, to chase down names, rumored supporters, possibly co-opted agents, sympathetic personnel, equipment suppliers, and so forth. The Speer Administration had to play a very, very delicate game with the issue, as any otherwise valid security and confidentiality reasons were at risk of being flagged as simple obstruction while data and personnel is whitewashed. Still, the AIS was willing to cooperate, but that too raised concerned voices.

The fallout from the attack on Terra Nova was keenly felt on the Citadel as well. Councilor Udina considered himself lucky that his four peers were sane enough not to immediately capitalize on the Alliance's plight, but he was well aware that the support received would have to be balanced in the future. Still, he considered it a good bargain, and argued incessantly for accepting the aid, brokering a number of comparatively minor yet prestigious concessions from various human companies, to preempt and offset the surely incoming little requests from the other races. Meanwhile, he also used every occasion to voice his opinion that while the batarians would have to be dealt with, ultimately, it was much more important to find out who was behind the whole atrocity - after all, not even batarians would be stupid enough not to realize that an act like this was nothing less than an act of war, and the Council would have to respond in kind.

The Spectres were ordered to ensure that nothing similar happened to the major Council shipyards and capitals; and at the same time, the agents had to delve into the background of the attack, to find connections, to drag the hidden player into the light so it could be eliminated. Despite being a unit composed of rather diverse individuals, the consensus among Spectres leaned towards somebody wanting to cause a war - as a diversion to something else. Perhaps others would have discounted these ideas as outlandish, yet the Saren Crisis clearly showed to the Spectres that at times even such insane-seeming scenarios were grounded in reality.

Executor Pallin and Lictor Vakarian suddenly had their hands full with riots and violence against batarians, with a sudden influx of religious nutjobs preaching apocalyptic visions with frightening intensity and zeal, and with several quiet, barely-thwarted attempts at numerous important officials, up to and including Councilors Tevos and Udina. Nominally, these attacks were perpetrated by Cerberus, and on the surface, the assumption seemed correct. Yet both turians suspected that there was something else as well, a more disturbing aspect - namely, the Shadow Broker being involved. A discreet investigation made it clear that the known associates of the Broker Network were withdrawing from the Citadel quietly, unobtrusively, vanishing into thin air - or in a number of occasions, they turned up dead. Neither Garrus, nor Pallin knew whether this meant that the Broker was involved directly in the attack on Terra Nova and had turned against the Council, or if he was deposed, the deaths and disappearances merely a sign of the internal power struggle. Despite their differences, both turians decided to err on the side of caution, and opted for assuming the Broker having turned against them - with all the terrifying implications such a move would mean.

Quietly, special STG, Blackwatch, Serrice Guard, and C-Sec operatives were dispatched under Spectre leadership to preempt some possible scandals the Broker could spring upon the influential public figures - yet everyone knew that this was, at best, a token effort. After all, nobody wanted to air their dirty laundry, and the governments of the Citadel races had several nasty, well-kept secrets - and now, all scrambled to secure them even further, to limit the damage the Broker could surely cause when he started using those secrets he was famous for hoarding.

On the far side of a balefully glowing mass relay, beyond a vast debris field of ancient spacecraft, the immense station was coming fully alive, the insectile inhabitants swarming over the numerous vessels, in preparation for the harvest.

Their pawns had already secured a stronghold controlling access to the base, thus the General (or rather, the guiding intelligence behind it) decided on deploying and rousing the assets of the Black Arks, in addition to the ships designed for procuring biological material.

Soon, their time would come, and their master could finally feed and grow once more.

In a city of shadows, lies and treachery, a conclave of siblings, of power incarnate debated whether a more direct approach would be needed. So far, things were mostly in line with their aeons-old plans and prophecies, but with freedom in their sight, the volcanic leader argued for action, for finally unleashing their might, to take back their rightful dominion. He argued that the seals holding them back were the weakest yet, and if their sister was correct in her visions, this weakness would not last long, and they may not get another opportunity to get free for millennia - and they were all so very tired of waiting and hoping.

Still, the dangers of their ancient enemies noticing them, or even worse, following them to their shadowy domain was very carefully weighed. Risking freedom was one thing, but risking the species of their followers was another - none of them were really willing to test what would happen if their shorter-lived kin perished en masse.

As a compromise, a scouting force would be dispatched - effective enough to intervene and tip the balance in the favorable direction, but small enough to hopefully pass beneath notice. The preparations began to deploy the flotilla, and the cautious optimism ran through the vast city, invigorating the denizens - and naturally, giving birth to countless schemes and ploys to take part in the expedition, or to stay away from it, and use the other's absence to one's benefit.

After all, the outside was surely vast and their rightful heirloom, but the important was the status now. The future was and would be taken care of by the guiding family.

On a plateau under a dead, black sun, a majestic figure stirred within the void-black pyramid as the cadavers impaled around to contain it came alive, hungrily questing for any trespasser, their warning screams echoing in the void and the higher dimensions alike.

The being turned its visage towards the distant sky, its eyes half-lidded, mouth distorted into a vulture's eager, malicious smile. The voice that came from its throat would have plunged any listener into the maelstrom of madness - especially when they realized the figure was laughing triumphantly. And why would it not? Everything was unfolding according to its design, and soon, it could once again step on stage - if it chose its mask right.

Then again, it mused, any one of its masks would be a correct choice for unleashing even more chaos and providing a welcome distraction from its boredom.


	26. Chapter 18

**Lazarus Station, deep space (31/10/2183)**

Miranda Lawson felt conflicted. On one hand, the past few months have allayed her suspicions about the young asari archeologist and her drell companion - in fact, she felt surprisingly comfortable working with the other woman, and she could certainly appreciate the rare flashes of desert-dry humor the drell sprang on them. On the other hand, Liara could be so infuriatingly naive and well-meaning at times that she wanted to scream from frustration. It would have been less of a problem if the asari was less intelligent, or more arrogant - in either case, Miranda could easily blame it on her species. But no, the damn woman just had to be smart and capable enough most of the time, to lull her into a false sense of security that she was working with someone on her own level, without the need for all the mind games Henry Lawson (and to an extent, even the Illusive Man) loved to play. And then, seemingly at the drop of a hat, Liara seemed to switch into a starry-eyed, clueless teenager (though in fairness, she was just that, never mind that chronologically she was three times Miranda's age), especially when it came to certain people - or rather, people in general. In a way, Miranda envied that - her own upbringing (and she was using that term rather loosely) made her quite unable to be that positive about sentients in general, an attitude only enhanced by her service in ONI and the involvement with Cerberus.

Still, she mused, having Liara around was more than beneficial enough to offset the occasional annoyance. With the asari's help, Miranda and her team of specialists managed to progress much faster with the reconstruction of Shepard, mind and body alike. Not that Miranda had doubts about their eventual success even without Liara's presence, yet she would not deny that without her around, Project Lazarus may have skirted dangerously close to the optimistic deadline set by the Illusive Man. And considering the latest reports about the galactic events (or even just the reason why the young archeologist was here and not on Ilium), Miranda wanted to be done with this project as soon as possible. All her senses and instincts warned her that they and the galaxy were running out of time, and the Reapers were coming even earlier than estimated in Cerberus' worst-case scenarios.

And, she reminded herself with a grimace, not even those worst-case scenarios predicted her father turning on them so quickly and decisively - a fact that annoyed Miranda endlessly, seeing as she herself was involved in coming up with some of those scenarios, and she knew just what lurked behind the affable facade of Henry Lawson. Or rather, she thought she knew, as she shuddered remembering the creature visiting Minuteman Station. No, whatever her father may have become, it was not expected, and not even the Illusive Man could ferret out the reason and extent of the changes affecting the former minister - or, for that matter, his current whereabouts. Admittedly, there were a number of rather important investigations and hotspots that drained the remaining, meager resources of Cerberus, and Miranda was well aware that some of the external support (such as from Admiral Hackett or Kathmandu) would be cut off soon to avoid further endangering important remaining assets.

Still, she could console herself with the fact that her own project was amply funded - and that having access to Liara's memories (or rather, the parts of Shepard's psyche imprinted in the asari's brain) made a lot of theoretical research and expensive equipment unnecessary. Even the related SR2 project was going well enough, but that was mainly due to Spectre Bau, Councilor Udina and Lictor Vakarian pulling strings quietly, and providing resources covertly - and for Urdnot Wrex to come up with a location that was rather low-priority for anyone on the lookout for a shipyard.

A wave of her hand banished the projections, and the changed display showed some of the major concerns they have been trying to deal with. She noted Thane's report about getting rid of a Shadow Broker agent at the last supply run, and once again felt vindicated in taking in the dying drell assassin. Of course, anyone who went toe-to-toe with Kai Leng, and managed to survive basically unscathed would be an asset, but Thane's background and skills were even more useful than she anticipated. Nevertheless, she concurred with his opinion that the Broker was actively looking for Cerberus assets in general, and Lazarus personnel in particular - and that meant a leak somewhere. She scowled. No matter how carefully they vetted their personnel, there was always someone willing or unlucky to be turned.

The research and intelligence projects were not doing well, it seemed - Chandana's group has made little progress, their last few reports suspiciously devoid of any new insight, finding, or even uniqueness. With a shiver, she flagged that as something to be checked - hopefully, it was either just laziness on the scientist's part (would not be the first time), or compromised comm systems, maybe a even a mole. The alternatives her mind was all too happy to picture were much, much worse. The excavation and reconstruction projects on Eden Prime were doing reasonably well, but there would be a need for someone trustworthy and knowledgeable to be present in person, as the initial findings were promising - the question was, who to send. Liara, naturally, would be an obvious choice, but she was too high-profile for that risk. Maybe the asari could provide some ideas, and Miranda would also check in with their contacts back on Terra to see if anyone was available - perhaps the Brysons could be employed?

The leader of Project Cerberus lost herself in the rather dismal picture painted by the reports, the encroaching darkness threatening to swallow the few remaining flickers of light - and that was if the increasing internal struggle did not snuff them out earlier. She did not believe that Cerberus was alone in sensing the unseen hand manipulating the Blood Pack into a position of prominence, setting them up to conduct a campaign of domination and slaughter in the Terminus, encroaching mainly on human colonies, with Fehl Prime and its research and production facilities a likely priority target. Or the increase in Collector sightings, always associated with small outposts and colonies going dark - still outside the SA space proper, and only involving less than ten thousand people all told, but the implications were disquieting. Skirmishes alongside the batarian border becoming ever more frequent, as the SA Third Fleet was finally reoriented and the Council reinforcements arrived. Ominous silence from the vicinity of the Perseus Veil, with no probes or scouting missions returning intact, making it likely that the geth were also gearing up for war.

Miranda's dark thoughts were interrupted by the chime of her door, and with a gesture, she shut down her screens, and turned towards her visitor. Liara was visibly nervous, tension radiating off her frame, worry clear in her eyes.

"Miranda, it is time."

The operative checked her internal chronometer, and decided not to argue about a few mere minutes. It would take them time to get to the ritual chamber and Liara tended to need comparatively longer to achieve the necessary mental state. So she nodded, and stepped out, leading the asari towards the depths of the station.

"I am still not comfortable with this ritual." The asari's voice was low, revulsion threading through it as she went on. "Especially the price."

She might have continued, but Miranda stopped her with a raised hand and a glare.

"We are not having this discussion again just now, Liara. I respect your opinion, but trust me, there is no other, safer way of doing this." She hesitated for a moment, then shook her head, and continued. "Or at least not without a handful of rather distinctive people around - and none of them could be brought here."

"Why, Miranda? Surely the importance of this ritual and the potential benefits would outweigh the security and financial issues of arranging their travel, and … why are you laughing?"

"Were it so easy." The human locked gazes with the asari, her eyes unyielding pools of cold, almost insane determination. "Those we can trust are either off the grid, dead, or worse. If not for your connection to Shepard, your past, and your complete inability to lie to me, you'd not be here either. Even so, I argued for not involving you in this particular step."

"Why not?" The young asari's eyes conveyed hurt and anger in equal measure.

"Because you are untrained, emotional, and have too many scruples for a stunt like this." Miranda's smile was a bitter one. "I do not doubt your willpower or determination, but..."

The elevator pinged, as they arrived to their destination floor. Thane was already there, finishing the last security check - he nodded towards the two women, before he left.

Out of habit, Miranda checked the wards and inscriptions, while Liara moved to the center, looking down on the capsule holding the empty, albeit highly upgraded shell of Shepard. She let the asari have a few extra moments - the last they could spare. And besides, Miranda could use the time to check on the rows of dreaming, sedated humans ringing the chamber. With a satisfied nod, she returned to the center to check on Shepard as well as Liara.

"Let us begin, then."

The two women took their positions, and Miranda started chanting, as the temperature dropped, hoarfrost webbing across the pods, floor and walls. As usual, she felt detached from herself, watching dispassionately as her physical self swayed in the throes of the rite, the words of power from her lips hammering away at the thinning barrier between dimensions. She noted when the first of the sacrifices was snuffed out, and felt a distant worry at how early in the ritual it happened, and her sight swept over the hexagrammic wards again, to ensure that they were holding.

The closing roar of the imminent crossrip would have sent waves of power into the higher dimensions, with a fraction bleeding off into the materium, probably enough to damage the station after tearing apart everything in the chamber. She let out a breath as she realized the outer hexagon was holding, even though the dreamers were being drained faster than she hoped - and the excess power was redirected inwards, resonating against the veil of immaterium. Her voice rose into a crescendo, its echoes muffled by the wards to shield them from the senses of the predators from beyond.

Nameless colors bloomed with an orgasmic sigh in the center of the chamber, as the sacrifices howled in agony despite the sedatives, despite being asleep, as the touch of the immaterium caressed their souls with razor-sharp edges, peeling away memories, emotions, thoughts with a malevolent glee. Miranda glared at Liara when she felt her falter in revulsion for a moment, her own voice never missing a beat as the unsane power battered the walls of her self.

The asari's mouth was moving, forming words she should never have known, the voice of a male human echoing within the vortex they bore into the immaterium, the power of the incantation lighting a beacon for a specific soul, signalling and guiding and cajoling it back from the meaningless, immeasurable distance it had wandered (or been dragged off to? the thought was almost enough to make Miranda falter for a moment) - and then both women could hear and feel the seeking tendrils of something dark and uncaring questing for them as well as the spark they sought.

Liara's eyes were pools of terror and agony, and Miranda was almost sorry for her, yet she could not help her, apart from risking a respectful nod at the asari's determination, as she held together enough sanity to keep up her crooning siren song that throbbed with power and emotions alike, its intensity just as potent as Miranda and the Illusive Man suspected…

The operative focused on holding the ritual together, shutting out the tortured, ecstatic screams echoing in her mind, the whispering voices seeking to worm inside from the other side, the unearthly cold, the eye-searing swirl of nameless colors writhing in the air - and then a soft, faint golden hue laced the veins of power in her sight, small sparks of golden power burned away shadows and whispers alike. The soundless siren chant of the asari became a compelling crescendo of golden power, demanding the attention, the completion, the return of its departed part.

In the center of the summoning chamber, the once empty shell of Alexander Shepard opened his eyes for the first time in months, and for a moment, Miranda could have sworn she could see the outlines of a warding symbol burning in those eyes - then Liara fell to her knees, her song wavering at the oily, malevolent presence leering at them from beyond, before Miranda cut off the portal with a gurgling cry, and fell to her knees, blood flowing from her mouth and eyes alike.

* * *

 **Citadel, Widow system (31/10/2183)**

Garrus Vakarian cursed his luck, his upbringing, his superior, and most of all, his current predicament. Sure, he had to acknowledge that the scenery was nice, as he flashed a grin while his eyes lingered on the trim waist and boldly sweeping frills of a turian female, but still - to be stuck in a concert hall, of all things, while he could do so much more outside was galling. And that cloaca Pallin had of course been reasonable, and only slightly gloating, pointing out that as a Lictor, it was kind of Garrus' duty to attend functions like this to ensure the security of the VIPs under C-Sec's care. And these days, there were few more important persons than the incumbent Councillors, three of whom were in attendance … and he just had to play his part in organizing the close security details, instead of being on sniper duty, or even better, off-station chasing after some rather promising leads. At this point, he would have even preferred the still-forming anti-Reaper task force the Hierarchy was setting up. It's not like his own presence would have mattered here anyway, if someone decided to make trouble - if the fact that Jondum Bau was heading the security detail was not enough to deter a would-be attacker, said person was likely either howling mad, or better armed that _Sovereign_ was. Garrus sighed, as he stood to once more perform a security check, the last before the concert began - again he wondered why Tevos, Udina, and Sparatus chose to attend an opera, of all things.

Of course, the whole thing was organized and touted as a charity event to show the unity and goodwill of the Council races (especially since about half of the people involved were turians and asari, the other half humans), make some backstage deals, and drum up public support (as well as gently mug the wealthy) for the rebuilding efforts - for some reason, the general populace was still rather leery about the increased war preparations. Garrus could understand why some events were still kept behind the scenes, but it still rankled. At least closely working with the Councillors convinced him that those five had at least enough sanity, common sense, and backbone to start the quiet preparations, instead of simply ignoring the warning signs. Though, he mused, with Sovereign and the batarian attack on Terra Nova, only the blind or wilfully ignorant could deny the coming problems - at least, amongst those who were in power.

Garrus checked his omnitool quietly, seeing that both the C-Sec and STG security personnel were at their proper locations, and the escape routes were still clear - sure, there would be no reason to use them (apart from if and when the Councillors wanted to leave quietly, without having to meet the media), but it never hurt to be prepared … and it was his job, anyway. People were trickling back to their seats after the break, ready to enjoy the second act. Nobody strayed to closed-off locations, the weapon detectors did not register a single incident, even the C-Sec channels he checked for the station-wide situation showed a calm, quiet night, a true rarity on the Citadel - but he supposed it went fairly well with the somewhat bland story of the opera; though he would admit that for an allegedly 400-year old piece, it got several star systems correct, and the score sounded almost tailor-made for turian instruments, and the asari voices of the choir were quite effective in creating the proper atmosphere. Then again, Garrus mused, it was likely that the original play was overhauled for a multi-species audience; it would not be the first time an old piece of art was used as a prop to make a political statement.

The second act changed the mood rather quickly and harshly, and Garrus saw that he was not the only person in the audience to react. The previous politely indifferent mood was shifting along with the swiftly darkening themes of the opera, the audience becoming increasingly agitated, with wildly varying reactions, from simple discomfort to contented smiling to barely-suppressed aggression or nausea. Garrus' instincts screamed danger, as he felt something caressing his mind, gently prying for an entry, beckoning him to just let go of the discipline and morals of his people, and revert back to what his ancestors were, to maim, to rend, to violate...

The soft chime of an incoming voice connection interrupted his inner turmoil, and he blink-clicked the acceptance before he tensed at the expression on Bau's face.

"Vakarian, get the Council out." The salarian Spectre's eye twitched involuntarily, and Garrus saw the tell-tale signs of strain on his face. "AURORA sources verified that play is extremely dangerous; after extraction of VIPs, we must stop the performance."

"On it, Bau." The detective's only warnings were a blur at the edge of his vision, and a tingling from a small trinket he carried around since Ilos. Still, that fraction of a second was enough of a warning, and he sent the attacking security officer flying with a throw, taking care to dislocate the other turian's arm while at it. A quick glance to take in the situation in the VIP box, and Garrus wanted to curse himself for not noticing sooner how bad the situation escalated.

Sparatus was flaring his mandibles, his talons digging into the armrests of his seat, obviously struggling against the influence. Udina was gasping for air, sweat beading on his forehead, eyes wild and hands trembling. Even Tevos, always the picture of calmness and serenity, had her eyes closed, her face a mask of turmoil. An asari guard and the other turian were eyeing each other, their desires all too apparent from their body language. One of the humans was slumped down at her post, blood trickling from her eyes, a look of agonising pleasure on her face. The other asari and the human male were keeping it together, though barely, as both struggled to keep sane and coherent; the Huntress already moving towards the door, her shotgun readied, steady in her hands, small flickers of biotic energy sparking off her.

"Councilors, we are leaving!" Garrus raised his voice, pitching it to the cadence used by turian drill instructors for centuries. Sparatus hissed at him, his posture ready to pounce, before with a visible effort of will, he stepped in the direction Garrus indicated, refocusing his aggression, following the asari Huntress, a gun in his hand. Udina tottered after him, a hand to his temple as he fought for every step with dogged determination not to slow the others down. Tevos followed the other two Councilors with a serene grace, her biotics haloing her form as she prepared to shield them in case of an attack. The human bodyguard followed, his whole bearing calmer and more focused as he sealed off his hardsuit, and Garrus frowned at that. Was there some reagent in the air, maybe, something that the scanners missed? But that would have to wait, as he hurried out, a last glance confirming that in the auditorium, desire and instincts seemed to overpower common sense and sanity, letting chaos reign.

The few dozen meters to the nearest exit felt a longer, more draining trek than slogging through Ilos, battling Saren's forces. While Garrus could and certainly would thank the spirits for not encountering anyone (a fact that sent his cop instincts screaming), the sounds and voices were hard to ignore, despite the audiofilters built into his suit and comm unit. The clearest, even over the weirdly rhythmic, atonal music of the turian band was the lead singer and the asari choir melding their voices in a harmony of malevolent pleasure, liberating pain, ecstatic betrayal, a plethora of contradictory emotions and feelings, drilling into the brain and soul of everyone present, making even the Huntress and Tevos stumble. Sparatus was distracting himself by running his talons along the walls, the scratching noise a grating counterpoint to the lurid music streaming from beyond. Udina was swaying on his feet, the human bodyguard supporting him, yet the Councilor still managed to totter and stumble towards the exit. The biotic coronas of both asari were flickering in response to their emotions, their eyes and whole posture indicating how close they were to simply let go, allow their minds to meld with whatever caused all this. And amidst it all, Garrus wondered why he himself was not more severely affected - especially since Sparatus, unreasonable but tough bastard that he was, had so obviously suffered the ill effects.

At least after those eternal-seeming few minutes, they were outside, beyond the containment barriers erected by C-Sec, and Garrus could offload his recovering VIPs to the Special Response team and Pallin, before Bau caught up to him, the Spectre's armor scuffed and bloodied. The salarian slotted a new ammo block into his pistol, before he turned to Garrus.

"Vakarian, with me. Need to go back, stop performers before they reach third act."

"Come on, Spectre, that's taking being a critic a bit too far." Despite his words, Garrus was already gesturing to a C-Sec officer, who tossed him his sniper rifle. "Besides, not that I doubt your ability to handle yourself in smaller scuffles, but the two of us might be not enough." His face turned grim, as his voice dropped to a deeper rumble. "Especially not if we want to keep anyone in there alive."

The Spectre's answer almost stopped the turian in his tracks.

"Killing them would be merciful." A swift check of his omnitool, then Bau shook his head with disgust. "Will send details later. For now, only focus on taking out the band and the choir, along with the singer. Make no mistake, Vakarian - if we fail to put them down, the whole Citadel will regret it."

Garrus chuckled bitterly, as the two of them reached the door.

"Why not blow up the place, then?" He frowned, his visor sliding into place, lining up his favorite song. "Come to think of it, why only the two of us?"

"Remember Feros, Vakarian. You were there, even though from orbit. This similar in scope, according to AURORA expert. And this is your job, Lictor." Bau slowly blinked. "Also, trusted, capable personnel in short supply." A smirk flashed so fast, Garrus wasn't sure he saw it. "But, one has to work with what one has. Now suit up, we are going inside."

Despite the situation, the immediate grim future, Garrus could not stop a chuckle, as the first riffs of the turian anthem echoed in his ears, while the hoarfrost-limned door irised open before them, the yawning maw of an eldritch beast.

"Well then, try to keep up, oldtimer!"

The inside of the once-pristine concert hall was a pulsating, cloying cavalcade of chaos, as things that were once sentient people cavorted within the fraying boundaries of sanity, decency, and material realm, the music of the spheres building towards a triumphant peak that would surely echo across the higher dimensions, clawing and battering at the minds of those still not succumbing fully to its siren song. The darkness of the void that suffused the building was only lit by the distant, impossible stars, and the spastic, random glimmers from the guttering lights when the physical world tried to reassert itself for a few brief moments. For a moment, Garrus felt a vertigo, as if he stepped out to the void, falling, before he anchored himself in reality, unaware of the faint, eldritch symbol of an eye within a pentagram burning with emerald flames under his armor. He sighted down at the stage, his rangefinder feeding him absolutely nonsensical data, calculating the distance between two meters to six kilometres and more.

The salarian looked at him questioningly, as Garrus lowered the rifle, the Spectre's mouth moving, but only garbled, grating sounds were audible from the comm unit. Still, the meaning was clear enough, and at Garrus' headshake, Bau just nodded, slowly exhaled, before plunging forward, racing into the void - or rather, down towards the stage, zigzagging between the melted, mewling, melding once-sentient piles of former people, the C-Sec detective following a half-step behind.

Garrus was never sure how the two of them gotten from their entry point to the stage, or the time elapsed since they stepped into the concert hall. Based on how well Bau was holding up, it must have been reasonably short, but his senses and instruments indicated hours have elapsed, and kilometres covered. The whispering, fragmented shapes of darkness, the haunting piping, the frothing, suffocating waves of intruding protoplasmic matter, the deranged noises from the still-alive audience formed a nightmarish amalgam of impressions in Garrus' mind, only fragmentary images standing out in stark relief.

Bau, stabbing an omniblade into the single head of a crazed thing composed of several partially-merged humans. An asari looming from the darkness, a seductive, malevolent grin on her lips, eyes swirling black, her corona blazing, before she falls back, as his shot tears away half her head. Bau, vanishing under a mound of flesh and exoskeleton. The Spectre bursting forth, omniblade and gun blazing, armor dented and scorched. The eruption of blood as Garrus sends a bullet through the eye of the lead singer, her mouth opening impossibly wide, as the tormented air strains from the sounds coming from the darkness within. Claws, hands, tentacles grabbing for them both, giving way when sliced with the omniblade or hit by a gun. Musical instruments and singers howling in thwarted fury and madness as the inferno charges set them alight or the storm of bullets rips into them, muting the atonal, crescendoing choir of insanity.

The turian came back to his senses as the concert hall reasserted itself, the burnt-out, wrecked rows of chairs, half-melted, bullet-ridden, gnawed-on bodies an image straight out of bad holovids or slaver-hit Terminus colonies. The turian felt exhausted, just like the panting Spectre across him. The salarian took a look around, before sitting down, his hands fiddling with the omnitool.

"Good job, Vakarian."

Garrus flared his mandibles in a vicious gesture, as he turned towards Bau.

"Yes, a mighty fine job massacring these lunatics! Spirits, how could something like this slip by us, Bau? What are we going to do to prevent this from repeating?" The sniper's voice dropped to a dangerous, predatory growl. "And what do we do to the bastard responsible for this? Can AURORA and the Spectre network find him?"

The salarian's answer was a cold, small smile.

* * *

 **Mahavid, Aysur system (31/10/2018)**

The geth emissary-platform, designated Legion by Major Pieterzoon, was once again devoting a substantial amount of its processing capabilities to analyze the recent events on the asteroid, to corroborate or disprove the seemingly outlandish implications of the T-GES crew of the station. On the surface, one could easily and comfortably claim that it was mere space dementia caused by the claustrophobic environment, monotony, lack of contact, a thousand other, minor, everyday factors - and even the fact that the asari on-station seemed affected could have been caused by simply being overwhelmed by the emotional imbalances of the humans, melding with one forcibly or voluntarily, some inherent mental instability or neurochemical issue.

Problems with this theory were quite numerous, however. The miner's behavior and demeanor, the eclectic and wildly varied data gathering they have been doing, their reactions when the professor deployed that n-dimensional, multifrequency shield of his (and the consensus of Legion again had to forcibly reprioritize to avoid contemplating the intricacies of that seemingly-impossible barrier that defied conventional logic along with the rules and laws of physical reality). The consensus of Legion's constituent runtimes was that the alien artifact found in the depths of the asteroid was either somehow exerting an influence on the miners, following pre-programmed tasks and behavior patterns, enforcing those on the sentients within its control radius, or that it acted as a beacon/amplifier similar to FTL comm buoys, allowing for its creator to direct its influence through it, suborning the unwary sentients in proximity of the beacon.

Legion tasked several dozens of its runtimes to assess the technological implications and resource needs for creating such a beacon, and the available data, even allowing for black projects and typical leaps of inspiration made by organics, all pointed at such things being at least a few centuries in the future. Thus, the geth runtimes reasoned it was either extragalactic (unlikely; the Caleston Rift was too far from the galactic rim for that) or precursor tech. The latter option also seemed to be more likely due to the fact that the professor's demeanor indicated familiarity with the artifact - though Legion would freely admit that it was not an expert at reading humans; but then again, the emissary's runtimes were nowhere near to a consensus on what exactly Professor Yildirim was. And ever since coming on board, the geth made it a point to observe the enigmatic being very closely, even if it meant putting up with the occasional off-color joke from Major Pieterzoon, who seemed to quietly enjoy the byplay.

The cluster of runtimes tasked with monitoring the status of Dr. Garneau. The man was still slightly disoriented and confused, but his mental state was improving rapidly, and Legion estimated that he would regain full command of his mental faculties within a few more minutes. A quick check confirmed that the jury-rigged scanning/monitoring tool the geth platform was constructing would be ready for operation at that time.

A number of runtimes were running the steps of the plan again, looking for possible faults, points of failure, dangers and limitations, yet no matter how many times Legion ran the scenario, or how many variables the emissary attempted to account for, it always concluded with insufficient data. There were simply no means for the geth runtimes to fathom the precise capabilities of the professor's powers, especially since said abilities seemed to defy the projected limits of organics as well as the laws of the universe; or at least, said abilities could not be quantified and understood within current scientific limitations. The current debate amongst the runtimes was about whether to classify them as abilities inherent to a yet-unknown precursor race of beings (given the few implications dropped by its companions about past events and their personal experiences, the option had merit), or to borrow from a human author, and label such phenomena as magic, pending reclassification once the proper scientific understanding is reached (due to the unconventional range and working methods of these phenomenon, this assertion also had merit). Reaching a consensus was a distant possibility, so Legion's runtimes tended to assign a lower priority for this particular contemplative task.

As the internal timer ticked down, Legion assigned higher priority and more runtimes to checking the quality of its work, simultaneously increasing the attention it gave to the three organics as well. It was quite clear that Major Pieterzoon was not exactly thrilled with the upcoming happenings, but his body language and demeanor made it clear that he would go along with the plan, without further objections or covert sabotage due to moral reasons. Alex Garneau was worried, afraid - to be expected, since he would bear the brunt of the possible dangers, despite the assurance of the two other organics. Though given that Garneau was clearly remembering the Saren Crisis, and the geth's role in it, Legion could understand why he was not happy about having to rely on a geth's jury-rigged tool to monitor his vitals and brain - especially after getting free of the mind-tampering effects of a precursor artifact.

The countdown reached zero, and the geth platform turned its ocular sensor towards the professor who hovered by the strangely shimmering blue-ish crystal sphere, a slight distortion of the air the only outward sign of the barrier he used to cut off the artifact from whatever was on the other side. Legion's sensors went to the highest possible sensitivity, its runtimes prioritizing the in-depth monitoring as well as the detailed documentation of the experiment to come.

"We are ready to start."

At the synthetized voice, Garneau swallowed, nodded, before the professor made a gesture, and the distortion from around the sphere vanished, the colors within started swirling in a hypnotic pattern of soothing blue. Legion mimicked a human gesture as it raised an eyeflap.

"Detecting a possible QEC thread. Attempting to trace it." A minuscule pause, as the platform checked its sensory data. "Subject's brainwave patterns within normal limits."

Pieterzoon snorted in amusement as he studied the displays, and Garneau, despite the the situation, also managed a small grin that dropped off along with the temperature in the ship.

"I feel so cold..." The archeologist shivered. "It's dark, can't..."

The man's eyes rolled up in his head, and he might have fallen if not for Pieterzoon grabbing him, keeping his head turned towards the slowly pulsating sphere on whose surface the blue patterns shifted in yet-unpredictable patterns. Garneau's head snapped up, his mouth slowly opening and closing, the brain activity monitor going berserk.

" **The darkness must not be breached!** "

A quick glance between the two organics, as Legion indicated that while erratic, Garneau's brain activity was still in the safe zone.

" **Give up the artifact. You will not take what is mine!** "

+++ NEITHER WILL YOU. +++

A rapid query confirmed that all runtimes have experienced the answer simultaneously, without having to reroute it from the audio receptors of the platform. Legion raised an eyeflap, as it filed away the information for a later analysis.

" **Turn back. Do not pursue me. You will find only death.** "

The smell of ozone wafted in the air, heralding a storm, as lightning flickered in the depths of Munir Yildirim's eyes.

+++ YOU HAVE COWERED LONG ENOUGH. IT IS TIME TO FACE YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. AND YOU WILL, ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. +++

The sensors went berserk as an energy spike howled across the QEC link, shattering the artifact, cutting the connection, hurling fragments with deadly speed - only to melt into motes of golden light, and for a brief moment, it was as if the usually warm, brown eyes of Professor Munir Yildirim were pools of molten violence straining to be unleashed.


	27. Chapter 19

**Fehl Prime (12/11/2183)**

In the aftermath of the attack on Terra Nova, the SA had naturally upped the existing security measures for all important (and even most of the second-tier) colonies and outposts; the demands on manpower, ships, and construction materials stretching the budget, the reserves, and the people themselves to the breaking point (and in some cases, beyond). The witch hunt against the scapegoats for the batarian attack's success did not help, either. The constant high readiness state, the frequent drills, the jumping at shadows, and the gearing up for a retaliatory strike (or, to borrow from the ever-diplomatic Fleet Master, "the campaign to finally erase those four-eyed bastards from the galaxy") were leaving the troops tired physically and emotionally, much more prone to make mistakes. Those who had the training and endurance, as well as the responsibility to prevent such mistakes, like the N7s (Deltas included), were run ragged trying to prevent major breakdowns - a losing fight, made even worse by the government's attempts at getting more everyday control over these few remaining special assets, after putting both ONI and the AIS under direct, close senatorial oversight.

The Alliance's cyberwarfare experts worked round the clock to prevent similar breakdowns as at Terra Nova, rebuffing assistance from the Council in general, and the salarians and quarians in particular; the unspoken assertion was that the STG simply wanted to build in some convenient backdoors, while the quarians were just touted as a strawman for the STG and the Spectres. No, the Alliance had enough experts on their own, and they would figure out and deploy the proper countermeasures. Naturally, this being a project with government oversight, both internal military and external industrial lobbying was working against the project - otherwise, the cybersecurity experts could certainly have created the proper updates, plugged the backdoors, built in some more traps and countermeasures, likely implemented better intrusion detection algorithms. Sure, time was a scarce resource, but the SA's experts did their level best to uphold and exceed the standards set by people like Turing or Ishikawa.

Of course, these reactions were to a degree, predictable to military and intelligence personnel across the galaxy. Those more insightful into the human psyche could even glimpse and speculate correctly on the backroom politicking and power struggles as well. But there were very, very few beings on the galactic scene who had, as of the previous few months, a vested interest in keeping the SA off-balance, weakened - while remaining hidden in shadows, using only catspaws, information, the occasional assassination, but mostly money. And, as the events within the Alliance proceeded reasonably within the forecasts of the desired scenario, even the ever-paranoid network of agents grew just a tad more lax - and that, coupled with the admittedly well-earned confidence in their own abilities, resulted in just a few oversights.

Simple things, really, nothing major, nothing too overt or covert. Yet those mistakes were made, and the time to pay for those minor oversights was approaching fast. And, as so often happens, the payment would be extracted in blood. Well, blood and credibility - after all, the effectiveness and reach of the Broker Network was a well-known fact, and to even consider that the agents in that made mistakes with such catastrophic results was laughable. Unless, of course, the Broker had been playing both sides of the conflict.

* * *

The attack on Fehl Prime should have been a relative cakewalk for Archuk's Blood Pack forces, especially since with the chaotic deployments and hectic schedules of the SA forces, the regular garrison had been shrunk down to a mere full-strength brigade, instead of the usual reinforced divisions. Despite the vocal opposition of Fleet Master Sheridan, naval assets were also reduced, leaving only a cruiser squadron with frigate support, the carrier task force having been redirected to join up with the Fourth Fleet along the Hegemony's border. The only reinforcements remaining on-planet were five N-level squads, to provide security for the research center and the Prothean communication relay.

Agents of the Broker had once again done an admirable job of gathering data and ensuring that the attacking force would not be detected in time, and the naval patrol would be out of position for an interception of the Blood Pack fleet at any rate. The ground-to-space defenses were quietly manipulated, the targeting software modified to ignore specific transponder codes - which, coincidentally, belonged to a number of vessels acquired when Omega fell to Garm and his lieutenants. To further hedge their bets, the vessels were then retrofitted with ECM technology provided by the bug-like associates of the Broker; claiming (and confirming with a few live-fire tests) that these would provide adequate protection against Council ships at least long enough that ramming or boarding could become feasible.

Of course, the Blood Pack was more interested in actually occupying (or at the very least, razing and sacking) the colony, and for that, ground troops were needed, in no small numbers. After all, even with the understrength military defenders, this was a human colony in the Terminus Systems, so likely even the "regular" citizens were combat-capable, not to mention that it would be inexcusable stupidity to underestimate the proficiency and bravery of the SA marines. No, when the operation was planned, Warleader Archuk insisted on a significant numerical superiority - and with the new allies, the Blood Pack certainly was not lacking in numbers.

Thus, when the troop transports landed, a howling green tide of barely-contained krorks flooded from the dark depths of the ships, brandishing crude slugthrowers, krogan-manufactured guns and heavy melee weapons. The sound erupting from the thousands of throats was a primal call to fight, to war, to slaughter, the very air seeming to crackle with green-tinged energy as the horde charged the defences of the colony. Hundreds of vorcha accompanied them, to provide fire support with heavy weapons and flamers, while the dozens of krogan, the true Blood Pack members, who were supposed to lead and direct the mindless warbeasts, were too caught up in their own blood rage, almost all of them forgetting about little things like plans, tactics, or strategy. Some older, more experienced krogan mercenaries managed to keep enough control to at least direct the tidal wave of hulking brutes towards the defenders, certain in the knowledge that not even turian soldiers, never mind Alliance marines could hold the line against such numbers and violence.

Warleader Archuk was, for a brief moment, content that his achievement in soon razing the colony would finally get him the recognition as a proper Battlemaster.

And then, it all went wrong for the attackers.

While the colony itself may have been protected by a single brigade, the Shadow Broker's operatives failed to mention that these marines were equipped with the best weaponry and armor produced by the SA, instead of the cheap gear usually assigned to garrison units, that they were reinforced with squads of N-level soldiers, and commanded by the Heroine of Elysium herself - and unlike during the Skyllian Blitz, Irina Pavlichenko had time to plan her defences.

Automated sentry turrets popped up from beneath the causeways, their fire cutting lines into the onrushing horde. Snipers joined in, concentrating on those wielding heavy weapons and visible leaders. Kinetic barriers snapped up, sparks of electricity arcing from their surface, sending attackers spasming uncontrollably or outright frying them as the reactors were spooled up to a higher output. Electronic noise flooded the comm channels of the Blood Pack, forcing them to rely on more crude methods of communication or to increase the signal strength of their equipment - and the latter was gleefully rewarded by the defenders with artillery strikes. Biotic explosions and singularities tore into the mass of krorks, flinging bodies (or parts of them) with careless abandon. Techmines engaged under the feet of the attackers, the explosions scything down dozens of mercenaries, or turning them into burning torches.

For just a moment, the attacking wave was stopped, milling in confusion at the unexpected onslaught - and then, a biotic blur slammed into a blood-mad, howling krogan brute exhorting his troops, and the battlefield echoed with the wild laughter of Tela Vasir, as her blue-limned fist tore off the mercenary's head, her shotgun tearing a path of ruin into the press of green bodies. Then she was gone again in a blur, racing amidst the Blood Pack, always a step before the impending death, taunting, enraging the bloodthirsty beasts, yet appealing to their primal instincts, challenging and slaughtering all who tried to stand before her.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, a turian clad in power armor flickered into existence for a brief moment, the built-in omniblade of the armor bisecting a roaring krork before burning a path across the throat of another. With a flare of jumpjets, the turian was off, snapping off a shot that exploded the fuel tank of a vorcha flamethrower. Before the mercenaries could react, the cloaking field flickered, and only a very faint haze of distorted air remained where Nihlus Kryik had been previously, the Spectre already gone to reap a bloody tally elsewhere.

Warleader Archuk, understandably furious, but still confident that the situation could be turned around (not an unreasonable assumption - after all, the Blood Pack still had an immense numerical advantage), attempted to contact his fleet, to provide orbital support; or if necessary, simply bombard the colony.

Unfortunately for him, the vessels that ferried his forces to Fehl Prime, and broke orbit to deal with the two SA cruisers speeding towards the planet were rather preoccupied, when the SSV _Everest_ and her task force emerged from behind the secondary moon of Fehl Prime. Captain Langley did not waste her time with platitudes or demands for surrender, and the dreadnought's positron cannon lit up with murderous fury, the incandescent beam cleaving the largest Blood Pack cruiser apart, before the fighters from the _Tsiolkovsky_ and her sister swarmed over the rag-tag ships, overwhelming their point defense systems with sheer weight of fire and numbers.

Despite the rapid destruction, one of the Blood Pack ships managed to punch through the SA jamming, and send out a distress call. With the pseudo-motion of an FTL jump, three immense shapes appeared over Fehl Prime - seemingly dreadnought-sized asteroids with a disturbingly organic signature, despite the metallic superstructure protruding from the hulls.

* * *

Aboard the _Everest_ , Captain Langley glared at her tactical plot, her mind racing through the sketchy details the Navy had on these bastards - basically the few sensor recordings of the Normandy and the Orizaba. With a growl, she forced down her instinctual reaction, her voice pure ice as she gave orders - and silently swore to whatever gods were watching that if the insane plan did not work, she would tear apart the idiot who came up with it using her bare hands. And she just hoped that she would not lose too many of her people to the feint.

Following her command, the SA task force moved to disengage at flank speed, the ship patterns and outbound trajectories suggesting a rattled command, a desire to avoid action even at the cost of sacrificing a number of fighters, who were screening the withdrawal of the capital ships. The Captain's mouth was a hard, thin line, both her real and artificial eye burning as she saw icon after icon disappearing from the plot. At the very least, the Collectors seemed to be content in sending her ships packing, with only a single rock-like vessel keeping an eye on them, following them with a sedate but implacable speed, while the other two were heading towards the colony.

For all the costs she and her pilots would have to bear, the insane plan just might work.

* * *

Warleader Archuk could not and would not contain the gleeful, bloodthirsty laughter as he watched the display relayed from the ragged survivors from orbit. The arrival of the three bug ships had obviously badly rattled the humans, the SA vessels scrambling to withdraw - obviously, they did not want to tangle with ships that tore their precious Spectre's vessel apart without any problems. As two of the hulking ships descended towards the colony, shimmering kinetic barriers deflecting most of the fire from the still-functional AA and GTS batteries; and even the shots that penetrated did not seem to do more than pockmark the rocklike hulls with new craters here and there.

Shortly before landing, both ships vomited forth black clouds, that drifted towards the colony, the faint buzzing of insectile wings audible as the swarms came closer, larger shapes emerging from the ships in the distance, as the bugs themselves came out to play.

Now, he could finally see for himself how well these creepy bastards handled themselves in a fight, if they were truly worthy of the Blood Pack's support - or if Garm was just a blinded fool to throw his lot in with them.

* * *

The SA marines were prepared for quite a lot of different situations, and with the N-level operatives attached to the companies, they did manage to stand up quite well to the rather surprising and seemingly overwhelming Blood Pack assault, and have, in fact, managed to start pushing them back; all this with relatively few casualties and confusion. The first minute of the Collector attack, despite the careful planning and preparation, still almost overwhelmed them.

The humans did expect their enemies to have flying units. The powerful, portable particle beams were also no surprise, even if their efficiency against kinetic barriers was better than worst-case scenarios estimated. What nobody could expect was the paralyzing effect of the seeker swarms, made even worse by military-grade kinetic barriers presenting absolutely no obstacle to them, as many soldiers found out just a bit too late - and the Blood Pack were more than eager to capitalize on the sudden wavering of the defenders, as the mercenaries surged forward in a howling, fight-crazed tide, tearing apart or simply gunning down paralyzed soldiers.

If not for the biotics and the N7 Deltas on site, the chaotic, confused first minute may well have escalated into a panicked rout, elite marine status be damned. When the biotic barriers proved to hold off the swarms, Pavlichenko's specialists managed to come up with an insane, dangerous, but at least working solution to the swarms; apparently, a jury-rigged reconfiguration of the kinetic barrier generators to dump electricity over the hardsuit's outer surface was enough to prevent the nanomachines to remain functional enough to paralyze - with the drawback that it deprived the person from the protection offered by the kinetic barrier.

Still, there was no hesitation in the voice of Irina Pavlichenko when she gave the command for her troops to do the adaptation; after all, even without the barriers, they were well-trained, experienced veterans, and now, they had a fighting chance again.

That was all the marines needed - and once again, the tides of roaring mercenaries advancing under the strangely flickering, somehow muted greenish halo, were met with precise, disciplined fire from the defenders, stopping the savage horde cold, even without artillery support. Sure, more and more marines fell down, hardsuits ruptured by unimpeded biotic fields, boiled alive by direct inferno grenade hits, limbs or body parts torn off by usually-deflected bullets, beaten down and torn apart by howling, green-skinned beasts drunk on slaughter, cut apart by yellow-tinged particle beams fired from disturbingly organic guns. Despite all the disadvantages, seemingly heedless of the sharply decreased chances of their survival, the marines fought, the marines bled, the marines died - but above all else, the marines held the line.

* * *

Irina threw herself into cover, the flying bastard's particle beam cutting into plasteel barely a few inches from her. A quick check to ensure that her rifle's heatsink has cooled down enough, before she leaned out just enough, and the high-powered shot from the oversized Widow turned the upper body of the hovering, too-slow Collector into a geyser of organic paste. She ducked and rolled to avoid the incoming fire from the other bugs hunting her, racing just a bit before the chasing beams, as she maglocked her sniper rifle, and unshipped her Valkyrie, thumbing the ammo selector, then took down another pursuer with two well-placed short bursts of disruptor rounds.

She cursed silently, as she raced onwards, the battlemap in her mind getting more and more outdated as she was forced to prioritize acting as a soldier instead of being a commander - while the Blood Pack was uncaring enough, the Collectors were quick to identify officers and specialists, especially Deltas like her, for some reason. Before she was forced to quit her command center, the reports from all over the colony painted the same picture; while the marines managed to fight the mercenaries and bugs to a precarious standstill, casualties were mounting, and with the Collectors dispatching dedicated hunter-killer teams to take down the commanders, it would be only a matter of time before her forces were overwhelmed.

She thought about transferring command to Nihlus, as the turian did have enough experience to lead a force this size, but her last communication with him indicated that both him and Tela were also being hunted. Perhaps if she dropped off the comm channels, ceased broadcasting and coordinating her troops on the run, she could give her pursuers the slip. In any other circumstances, or even an hour or two earlier, she would have done so, the brief loss of oversight and control not presenting a major issue. Here and now, though, she did not want to risk that; not when her soldiers were barely keeping it together as it was.

Her brief musing was interrupted when her suit sensors alerted her to something - a moment later, her Widow was in her hands, the scope magnifying the closing object, and she cursed. The thing looked like a Mako-sized bug, which would have been bad enough on its own, but the telltale shimmering of a kinetic barrier and the deep furrow its particle beam burned into the ground (when not carving through plasteel, body armor, or IFV hull) as it fired on the defenders made it just that much worse - and, her luck being what it was, the thing brought at least four of its friends along. She stiffened for a heartbeat, the rangefinder and her battlemap confirming her suspicion, before she raced off, a snapshot sending a concussive round through the eye of a too-eager Collector. Blink-clicking a comm channel open, she fired off a warning along with a data packet to the two Spectres and her Delta squadleaders.

As she suspected, the leading bug-tank flew straight towards her, shrugging off the sparse weapons fire thrown at it. She smiled viciously, as she braced herself, the Widow again unshipping in her hands. A quick check on the ammo selection, a minor adjustment to the ammo block usage, then the oversized sniper rifle roared its fury, the two shots only separated by the merest fraction of a second, just long enough for switching the ammo type. The disrupter round fired first brought down the bug's kinetic barrier with a crackle of electricity, just in time for the inferno round to burn through the thick armor plating.

The bug-tank opened its front and screeched, the air distorting from the pained howl of the technorganic creature, as it dropped down, its impact throwing up clouds of dirt, the barrier around it shimmering into existence again. With a half-bitten curse, Irina _moved_.

As usual, time slowed down for her, as she raced closer, zigzagging ahead of the particle beams chasing her, the maw of the technorganic tank yawning open in a vengeful howl echoed by the scores of skulls within its depths, its high-powered cannon blazing with incandescent light, ready to cleave her apart.

She lazily swayed aside from the beam, her assault rifle unfolding in her left hand, sending bursts of disruptor rounds chipping away the thing's barrier as Irina danced between the shots from her pursuers, moving to keep the living tank between them, before pressing the muzzle of the Widow to an armored joint. The inferno round tore off the limb, unbalancing the huge Collector for less than a second - but that was more than enough for an N7. Maglocking her Valkyrie again, her omniblade ignited, biting deep into another leg joint, before a kick sent the halfway-torn limb flying. With a vicious, predatory grin, she circled, speeding up even more, her movements a blur as her implants kicked into overdrive.

The Collector opened its maw again, to roar or spit a beam of death at her, she did not care - she unclipped and primed a brace of grenades with a lightning-fast motion, hurling them into the gullet of the biomechanical tank, already circling towards its back while the grenades were in the air, her Widow booming its fury, the inferno round melting its way through the thing's armor - and then her grenades went off within the belly of the beast.

The explosion sent her flying, and she barely managed to hang on to her sniper rifle despite the rough landing against a half-melted Mako. Pain flared in her body as even reinforced bones cracked with the impact, yet she forced herself to her feet, command channel open once again as she pelted towards cover, issuing commands.

* * *

Aboard the _Everest_ , Captain Langley closed her eyes for a moment in relief as the signal from the surface arrived. Then, with a smile that belonged to a predator of the oceanic depths, she entered new commands, her task force turning back towards Fehl Prime and accelerating, the ship's lights flickering as the barrier configuration changed.

The Collector cruiser moved to a proper intercept course with a slow confidence despite being technically outnumbered, the firing chamber of its particle cannon igniting with baleful yellow light.

Then, with the pseudomotion of an FTL jump, Admiral Vipsania's task force dropped in-system, and practically immediately a blood-red beam of molten metal accelerated to an appreciable fraction of lightspeed lanced out from the _Stalwart_ , carving a deep furrow into the Collector ship's hull.

* * *

The arrival of the turian task force marked the final stages of the battle of Fehl Prime. In orbit, the _Stalwart_ and _Erebus_ tore the surviving few Blood Pack ships apart, only the Collector cruiser managing to put up effective resistance - though that would be understating it. Both Council dreadnoughts suffered serious damage, the new cyclonic barriers not enough to deter the particle beams of the enemy, while the positron cannon and the Thanix cannon were not powerful enough to easily penetrate the focused defenses of the Collector cruiser. One-on-one, both Vipsania and Langley would have been hard pressed to get a stalemate against the level of firepower and endurance the rocklike ship brought to bear. With the two of them working in concert, bringing their task forces to bear, victory was only a matter of time. Sadly, they did not have that in abundance, as the other two Collector cruisers, after extracting the surviving ground forces, were lifting up from the atmosphere, their kinetic barriers shimmering under the barrage of AA and GTS fire, explosions pockmarking their hulls. The battered third asteroid-ship started pulling away, concentrating only on evasion and defense, hoping that the Council vessels would be deterred by the incoming reinforcements. The two dreadnoughts did break off - after their parting barrage scored direct hits on the Collector cruiser's drive, sending the rocklike vessel tumbling. The Tsiolkovsky followed it, her fighters and bombers harassing the bugs, keeping them occupied, trying to prevent jury-rigged repairs.

The two ships lifting out from the gravity well were met by a crimson beam of hyperaccelerated molten metal, the beam tearing into the leading ship, punching through its barrier. The cruiser would have survived the hit without major issues - if not for the three C-type torpedoes slamming into its forefront with split-second timing. Howling, giggling vortices of white unlight blossomed along the hull, tentacles burrowing into metal, rock, and organic materials alike, all beginning to turn into a dull, flaking grey dust - before the second shot from the Thanix cannon impacted. High in the stratosphere of Fehl Prime, a yawning maelstrom of riotous, unnameable colors blossomed into existence for a fraction of a second, the barrier between the higher dimensions collapsing on itself, the brief whirlpool of unreality imploding with a thunderous detonation, the shockwave sending people and vehicles flying down at the colony, its echoes clawing into the minds of the crewmembers aboard the two dreadnoughts, breaking discipline, composure, sanity, turning dozens into drooling vegetables or slavering animals to be put down. Of the two Collector cruisers, not a trace remained - and a minute later, the harassed, limping third vessel exploded as well, taking several SA fighters with it.

Hours later, in the ruined, burnt-out husk of the command center, two turians, two humans, and an asari were grimly contemplating a stack of datapads scattered below a flickering holoscreen. Normally, none of the five would have advocated such a hasty meeting, especially given the severity of the situation and the delicate matters involved - yet precisely for that reason, all of them were agreed that the faster they did the debriefing and analysis, the quicker the Council could respond. And, in their estimates, time was even more of the essence than they thought before the battle.

"Irina, how bad are the casualties?" Nihlus' voice was tired, with an undercurrent of emotion that few humans would have believed from a turian.

"Worst I have seen." The blonde woman's voice was calm, professional, only the occasional facial tick betraying her composure. "More than two thousand of my people are dead, with another five hundred or so too badly wounded to ever fight again." She chuckled, a mirthless, grim sound. "Or really, to walk or live again, honestly. I have close to a thousand seriously wounded, leaving me with maybe two-three hundred effectives. From the two N7 squads, five people survived, only one of them Delta-level; the Collectors hunted them specifically, more aggressively than even officers. The colony defenses are shot to hell, and we are lucky that the civilian casualties are not much worse than what my marines lost. I haven't checked the records yet, but I suspect the only SA operation with worse casualty numbers was Torfan."

The table's edge creaked under Captain Langley's bionic hand, but before she could open her mouth, Tela spoke up.

"Don't blame yourself, Irina." Her eyes glowed still with the excitement of battle, but her voice carried the experience of centuries spent on the field of battle. "If anything, you should be proud of your people - I can name only a handful of other units and commanders who could have pulled off something like this, especially after the bug's little paralyzing trick."

"I concur with Spectre Vasir." Langley's voice was harsh, the words clipped, driven by barely-restrained fury. "Nevertheless, the Captain will be publicly vilified by the media and some higher-ups inside the SA. After all, with her achievements at Elysium, this should have been a cakewalk for her." The redhead closed her eyes, the table creaking under her fingers again. "She will be a scapegoat, just like Shepard was after Torfan. Nobody will care about the sketchy intel, the enemy forces, the unknown tricks. And with the uproar against the N7s, she'll be thrown to the wolves, forced to ..." With widening eyes, the naval captain took a step backwards, her eyes narrowing at the blonde N7, a disbelieving smirk on her face.

"Is there something you might want to share, Captain Langley?" There was a trace of amusement in Admiral Vipsania's voice, as her mandibles flared in a grin. The redhead glared at the turian, before she answered, her voice cold.

"While I do acknowledge the need for operational secrecy, I do not appreciate being kept in the dark when I have to sacrifice my people. I am aware that this was primarily an attempt at rooting out the Shadow Broker's agents and doing some weapons testing," she inclined her head towards the turian admiral "but there should have been more forces groundside, with possibly mech and armor support, air assets, the works. And if that's obvious to me, then Fleet Master Sheridan, or someone like Colonel Pavlichenko would not miss such details." She took a deep breath, visibly fighting to keep calm. "That fact, in addition to the practically inevitable political shitstorm the SA government will create leads me to suspect that the whole operation had some other, even more secretive goal - and now that we are done here, I want to know what that is." Human and bionic eye glowing alike, she stared at the other four. "I want to know why so many of my people had to die. I want to know why you sacrificed over three thousand marines; surely not simply for intel and weapon testing. And apart from that, I can only see this whole thing being good for is to drag down Colonel Pavlichenko, at a time when the SA would desperately need her best people."

Langley's face contorted into a menacing scowl as she glared at the quietly, one might say, smugly grinning foursome around the table. Nihlus spoke up, his mandibles still twitching with amusement, but his voice and gaze were both serious.

"Ask yourself, Captain Langley - with the political climate back on Earth being what it is, with the witch hunts against officers who have certain talents; what do you think, how long the Colonel would have lasted, before she was … disappeared?"

Langley shot him a furious glare, a scathing retort on her tongue, then she controlled herself with a visible effort, sighed, and conceded the Spectre's point with a nod. The turian went on.

"So, she came up with this whole idea, and your Fleet Master agreed - and so did the head of the Public Security Section."

"Wait, what? Why would that skulking asshole be involved?"

Tela took over.

"Because he is already in on the whole thing, my dear." Amused blue eyes met the human's glare, and the asari went on. "I am willing to drag you into this cloak-and-dagger stuff, if only for the extra benefits someone like you would bring" - her gaze wandered appreciatively over the redhead, as Nihlus groaned and Pavlichenko facepalmed with an exasperated sigh. Tela's voice became serious, her whole posture shifting from lazy sensuality to predatory, and none of them missed the small flash of her omnitool as a privacy field went up, or the barely-visible control gesture of a biotic barrier. "But if you do want to join us, there will be no way back, not until this whole Reaper thing of Shepard either ends with a victory parade of the Council forces, or with him committed to an asylum for paranoid delusions."

Pavlichenko shook her head, a small smile on her lips.

"The second one might happen regardless of the Reapers, Tela. Alex does have a tendency for coming across as insane."

Captain Langley's eyes narrowed at the blonde woman's choice of words, her mind racing, rumors flitting across her memory, and she fought to suppress a wide grin, yet could not keep it entirely from her voice.

"Well, if that's how things are, count me in."

* * *

 **Citadel, Widow system (14/11/2183)**

Donnel Udina was not a happy man these days. Just when he has climbed to what he considered the peak of his career, the place where he could finally achieve something for humanity, the universe seemed to conspire against him. The current, idiotic administration back on Terra had all the tact of a drunken elephant in a china shop, and were too enamored of their own rhetorics. Sure, people like Shepard have amply proven that humanity was more than ready to be one of the key players in the galaxy, but how in the void did that equal to claims of dominance or threats of isolationism was beyond him. If anything, it proved his long-standing suspicion that the main difference between people like him and the current government was that he could learn from the past - and was determined to use any and all means necessary to prevent the idiots back home from pushing the Alliance to the path that brought only ruin and suffering on the batarians … or the more insidious trap the turians fell into, back when they joined the Council. No, he would gladly lie, cheat, manipulate, and even contemplate violent actions to see the SA as one of the key pillars of the Citadel Council, a strong star nation in its own right, one that could forge an independent destiny but chose to build communities. And right now, he needed to do some rather risky dealing to keep the prestige and position humanity has earned - before the SA government decided to yank him out from here, replacing him with a yes-man or a zealot. He silently prayed that his four colleagues were as reasonable as he had estimated.

His office door chimed, and with a practiced smile, he rose to greet the other four Council members, motioning them towards the conference area, quietly checking his omnitool to ensure that the privacy measures he discussed with Bau were indeed in place - and then as he sat down, he placed a small, innocuous trinket to the middle of the coffee table, suppressing a grimace as the thing pricked his hand, greedily drinking his blood. Valern nodded his head just a fraction, the others did not seem to react or notice the byplay, simply discarding the small item as a curio, instead of a useful artifact. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Was he really going to do this?

"Thank you for coming on such a short notice." Again, he swallowed, struggled with the words for a moment. "I am sure that all of you are quite familiar with the internal strife that is ongoing in the Systems Alliance. Fringe groups, megacorps, religious cults, political parties, borderline terrorist organizations all try to maneuver for more power - and most of them, or at least the loudest ones, all call for humanity to withdraw from the Council. Now, we all know that it would be the height of folly for the SA to do just that. To prevent that disastrous action, or at least mitigate its effects, a certain cabal within the SA has reached out to me, to contact you in turn."

Sparatus tilted his head, his mandibles flaring.

"What I fail to understand, Councilor, is why your Fleet Master Sheridan is not taking more proactive measures to contain the turmoil. From what I know of him and his status within your military, he could easily do it."

"No encouraging of military coups for other star nations, Sparatus." Tevos' voice was light, even as her eyes narrowed at the turian and Udina. "Not everyone idolizes the military mindset as much as you do, and it does have drawbacks and blind spots as well. There's a reason the five of us play this game of checks and balances."

"Any other day, I would concede, Tevos - but this time, considering the looming crisis, I'm honestly advocating just that. For all their issues, the SA military leaders are at the very least competent and can be relied upon to act rationally."

"I disagree. The current crisis in the SA is not as bad as what my people endured three centuries ago, and objectively, a strong, competent and most of all, aggressive military dictatorship might be a more serious threat to our equilibrium than the current civilian government." Zaal'koris interjected. "Though I can certainly understand why you would advocate for it in the short run." He nodded towards Sparatus, the gesture and his voice alike conveying the respect for his colleague.

"Also disagree. Coup messy, wastes resources, chiefly time. Already, military personnel might be compromised." A sharp exhale from Valern, then he went on. "STG would capitalize on such chaos, Collectors and their backers would definitely do the same. Also, do not forget other methods of influencing; remember fate of Benezia and Saren."

Sparatus glared at Valern, but nodded, accepting his point. Udina cleared his throat, and spoke again.

"In the past few months, the most blatant and horrific atrocities, along with the loudest anti-Council and xenophobic messages, were all claimed to originate from an organization that called itself Cerberus. What some of you might not know is that originally, Cerberus had close ties to the highest levels of Alliance military - and worked as a black ops group." He raised a hand to stop the inevitable protests he could see forming from Sparatus and Zaal'koris. "To give you an idea what they were earlier involved in - they were instrumental in the stealth frigate project, as well as Project Aurora." Valern nodded satisfiedly at that, Tevos raised an eyebrow.

"So, I presume this is where you tell us what prompted the rather drastic change in direction, then." Even through the modulator, the voice of Zaal'koris was exceedingly dry, and Udina shot him an unamused glare before triggering his omnitool, and the image of a human male in expensive clothing appeared before them.

"Some of you might recognize Henry Lawson, former Secretary of Education, one of the main movers behind Cerberus."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Councilors, but isn't Lawson dead?" Sparatus directed his attention at both Udina and Valern, then his gaze sharpened when neither of them showed affirmation or surprise. "So, once again, the STG keeps a potentially disastrous bit of choice information secret." His voice sounded tired. "One of these days, your people will seal your own fate with this scheming and trickery."

"Necessary work. Also, survival of Lawson and connection to Cerberus deemed as SA internal issue earlier. Had no projections that showed relevance to Council-level issues, particularly not on this scale."

"At any rate, while him faking his death and disappearing may not have been a problem in itself, intelligence assets provided information that indicates he has been subverted by something or someone, and that is why he betrayed the SA and Cerberus." Udina's voice carried an undercurrent of barely-restrained fury. "That crazy bastard conspires to torch the SA, spits on what Cerberus originally stood for, and thinks he can make us dance to his tune as well. And damn him, but he was doing a rather good job of it."

"What changed, Donnel? And what intelligence assets are you talking about?" This was not the mellow, serene voice Tevos mostly employed; the distant fury of the onrushing tide, the wrath of a woman scorned echoed within, the power making even Valern flinch for a moment. Udina swallowed again, before fiddling with his omnitool once more, and the holoscreen changed, showing another human male in expensive clothing. The man on screen nodded towards them, and took a drag of the cigarette he had in his hand. Valern's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before a grin flashed across his face, as he nodded, confirming some inner thought. Sparatus flared his mandibles in a predatory reflex, recognition and fury in his glare.

"A good day to you, Councilors. Glad to see some old friends around."

"Get to the point and tell me why I shouldn't tear out your arm and beat you to death with it." The turian's voice sounded level, but the other four knew him well enough to spot the harmonics beneath. The man on the holoscreen puffed once more from his cigarette, leaned back.

"For the same reason the Turian Hierarchy as a whole was not eviscerated thanks to the actions of Saren. Just like him, Lawson was a trusted asset, who turned against us." He touched a control, and four omnitools chimed with a request for incoming data transfer. "I can provide you with the relevant data about how deeply he subverted Cerberus, and why I consider a minority of us still reliable, still working towards a sane goal. Councilor Udina has already seen the data, and has verified it via the AIS and N7 Deltas." A puff of smoke, a bitter smile. "Well, as much as anything can be verified by them nowadays - though they are still mostly loyal to the SA."

Valern was already busy typing, retasking STG assets, while Zaal'koris got busy attempting to trace the connection. Tevos, meanwhile, locked eyes with the human.

"What do you want?" Her voice was calm, measured again.

"Cooperation. Those of us who are still loyal to the ideal Cerberus represents will not stand aside while an opportunistic madman with delusions of grandeur destroys all that has been built by Humanity, and turns back the clock for our race." His eyes seemed to glow with a cold blue light that pierced the puff of smoke. "We have fought long and hard enough for a Council membership - to throw that aside, to spit on those who died for it, is not something that I will allow." His voice was becoming even colder, laced with a tightly-leashed undercurrent of wrath. "The Reapers are coming, and even together, we may not have much of a chance - but separately, they will grind us to nothing. And Councilors, I'm not sure if Udina has mentioned it to you just yet, but us humans have a tendency not to go down without a fight."

Sparatus nodded, the gesture grudging but sincere.

"Fine words, but for the moment, these are just that. Prove your sincerity and intentions now, not with some data packet we may spend days, weeks trying to chase down to prove." His voice was challenging, and the man on the screen smirked, his hand manipulating something out of view, and the screen changed.

"Those are not plans for a military ship." The voice of Zaal'koris was intrigued. "The scale and shape is all wrong for that - and that is not a drive core configuration I have ever seen." He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing behind his faceplate. "For that matter, that reactor output curve is also interesting; not even a Yutani-Yi reactor compares."

"Correct, Councilor - this is not a warship, this is what my people came up with for insurance." A puff of smoke, a glint of humor in the blue eyes. "Of course, most of this is still theoretical, as we did not yet approach the relevant scientists - but with the Council's backing, this could turn into a multi-racial project that would make the turian-human cooperation for the Normandy comparable to a schoolyard project."

"Why call it insurance?" Tevos mused, before Zaal'koris cut in, files scrolling rapidly on his omnitool, his voice disbelieving.

"Is this what the real aim behind the Andromeda Initiative?" Udina sighed at that, Valern's eyes widened perceptibly, Sparatus hissed, and Tevos nodded in understanding.

"You would have us flee, then? Run like cowards, leaving all under our care for whatever preys on them from the darkness of the void?" The turian's voice was too calm, his whole body completely motionless.

"No." The man lit another cigarette. "Isn't it a soldier's motto to hope for the best but make plans for the worst? The Initiative is what we could come up with for the absolute worst-case scenario. At the very least, it would be enough for a few survivors."

The sharp-dressed man smirked, leaned back, his hand tapping at the armrest.

"And since you do not seem to be convinced by words, perhaps this footage will be enough. Do note the timestamp."

On the surface, there was nothing too remarkable about it - a human male going through some biotic exercises and martial arts katas with a young asari. Nothing the five Councilors have not seen before. But then Udina hissed, his eyes widening in recognition - just when Tevos chuckled, a small smile on her lips. Valern's eyes goggled from his head, and even Zaal'koris and Sparatus were grinning with disbelief. After all, it was not everyday that they could witness someone seemingly coming back from the dead.

"How?" Udina was not sure who voiced the question; he was too busy worrying about the implications - and the answer, delivered in a distant voice from behind the puff of smoke, was anything but reassuring.

" _It is not dead which can eternal lie, yet in this strange aeon even He may die._ "

* * *

 **Eden Prime (06/12/2183)**

As usual, events got kicked off with a small, almost overlooked detail. If not for Liara's love of all things Prothean, and her brief stint as an information broker (and no, the countless hours she spent trawling for patterns buried in the data did not count as intelligence analysis, at least in her opinion), she might have missed it entirely - or at least, it would have been too late. Even so, the short, preliminary report might have slipped under her eyes, if not for the two names attached to it. Admittedly, she did not know Sara Ryder very well, having only met the human woman only once or twice, but she was familiar with Treeya Nuwani - after all, not many maidens were considering her as a mentor. Thus, her finely-honed archeologist instincts screamed at her, urging Liara not to dismiss the report as a fake or a lure; with one of the people involved, she may have been correct in those assumptions, but with both? No, this had to have something genuine behind it. And it's not like Eden Prime had no connection to the Protheans. So, in quite short order, she brought the whole matter to the Illusive Man, and was pleasantly surprised how little convincing she had to do to get the funding and approval for the trip.

The hardest thing was to leave Shepard behind for the time being. While the Spectre was healing rather swiftly, both she and Miranda agreed with the Illusive Man to keep the operative in reserve until he's fully recovered and was once more at peak efficiency. Not to mention the sheer psychological effects his return would generate - that was not something that should be wasted on a mere archeological dig. The head of Cerberus also mentioned that a proper method of transformation, worthy of a Spectre, was under construction, and he was looking forward to Shepard taking it for a simple shakedown run. The resulting explosion of profanity and threats from the operative were only barely quelled by the concentrated efforts of Liara and Miranda.

Privately, she was simultaneously glad and worried about spending time apart from him. It would give both of them time to maybe figure out how exactly they should behave when in each other's company, as the awkward dancing around was tiring … and unfulfilling. Still, Liara was not entirely sure how she felt about him - or how the Spectre thought about her. Certainly, she had a unique insight into his mind, his personality, and with melds being what they were, he likely had an equally good impression of her. Yet, perhaps that was the most damning aspect - after all, she could give a rather long list why anyone could and would fall for the Spectre … but when it came to herself, well, the few entries were not even worthy of compiling into a list. Still, even a very slim chance was more than Liara had ever contemplated, so maybe once she was finished with this dig, she'd have to sit down with Shepard, and talk.

With a mental shake, she turned back towards her work and instruments. The ruined complex unearthed during the reconstruction efforts seemed to be massive, easily on par with the one on Ilos, and Liara silently hoped that here, she would find something more substantial about Protheans, or, Goddess willing, a working stasis capsule (or more). Though she suspected this was a childish hope, even Vigil had to contend with energy issues, there was precious little chance of a mostly-destroyed site housing working stasis tech. On the other hand, she theorized (with Sara and Treeya agreeing) that the destruction of the complex may give them some more clues about the enemy they faced, as the site was dated very close to the end of the Prothean cycle. So, the small team practically relocated inside the complex, devoting their waking moments to unlocking whatever secrets may linger within.

Honestly, Liara enjoyed herself immensely - here she was, doing what she loved, in good company, and for a very worthy end goal, at that. She came to enjoy very much the relentless optimism and energy of Treeya, the practical perspective of Sara, and she even appreciated the few pointers she herself received from a certain cigarette-smoking man about data and pattern analysis. All told, Liara felt that they were progressing quite well, getting minor results, and mapping the complex - which, in their estimates, would have housed tens of thousands of Protheans … but what stasis capsules they found were destroyed by something millennia ago. Sara theorized that the unknown assailants (she did not fully buy into the Reaper hypothesis, not yet) fought their way inside, and triggered some kind of reaction, probably a reactor overload, that resulted in a powerful neutron bombardment sterilizing the site.

Of course, like all too many good things in Liara's life recently, it had come to an abrupt end.

* * *

The traffic controller of the spaceport gulped as the Justicar left her ship, and walked through the small corridor, until she stood before them. Even though she was alone, and he had a dozen people standing guard, he knew that they could not have a chance should she choose to turn on them - while he had seen asari commandos (well, Eclipse sisters), N-level soldiers, and even a Spectre, this asari moved with a deadly, sensual grace and fluidity that made all look like rank amateurs. He tried to tear his gaze from the woman, lest she end him for being an impertinent pervert, but with the figure-hugging commando armor, it was extremely hard not to watch - and he swallowed, when those disturbing gaze rested upon him. The asari smiled at him, a thing of bemused acceptance, sheer, intoxicating sensuality, and heart-stopping menace all at once. Her voice caressed his whole being, making it very difficult to concentrate enough to answer coherently, instead of falling to his knees and worshipping the incarnated goddess standing before him. And when she departed for the archeological dig, the whole world seemed drab, empty, soulless.

* * *

The first sign was a distant, prickling feeling, a tang of the incoming storm on the tongue and skin; the closeness of a raised, active biotic corona.

None of the three archeologists payed any attention to it, engrossed as they were in opening the latest in a long line of stasis chambers - and with all of them being biotics, they naturally ascribed the phenomenon as the understandable excitement causing erratic fluctuations in their control over their abilities.

The second was a drop in temperature, the damp chillness worming its way under their clothing, seeping into limbs, blood vessels, neurons - understandable, as there was no climate control, and they were pretty deep within the complex. And besides, the trio was too absorbed in studying the instruments, not daring to believe the readouts, not ready to accept their immense luck.

The third and final sign was the low, throaty chuckle that seemed to reverberate from every corner and shadow, sending tendrils of dread and sensual excitement burrowing into the minds of the three archeologists.

Unhurried, measured steps came closer, delightful, wicked menace echoing along the tapping beat, as Liara, Treeya, and Sara were paralyzed with fear, anticipation, and indecision for a few moments. The shadows seemed to deepen, a very faint, sweet odor permeating the air, and the steps reached the access point of the stasis chamber. A pair of pale blue eyes seemed to ignite in the darkness, a gleaming white, predatory smile sent shivers of arousal and terror along the spines of the trio, then the stranger spoke.

"Liara T'Soni, scion of Benezia, chaser of childish fantasies, meddler in forbidden things - the Goddess calls you to account for your failures." The cruel delight and cold menace in the voice was so at odds with the serenity Justicars were renowned for. "Beg for mercy, repent for your misdeeds, and there just might be clemency for you, ignorant child."

The smile sharpened, the temperature dropped further, lines of hoarfrost spiralling away from the unknown asari, her curvaceous figure outlined with the harsh glow of an igniting biotic corona, her eyes swirling to pools of inviting, warmly suffocating darkness, her mind caressing the consciousness of the three others, whispering sweet threats, cruel suggestions, sensual promises.

"Goddess help us…" Treeya's voice trembled, her whole body shivering uncontrollably. "An Ardat-Yakshi..."

The hiss of an unfolding pistol broke the standoff, then Sara screamed, a biotic field enveloping and crushing her hand, before tossing her to the side, her head hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Another control gesture almost pinned Liara in place with a stasis field, and before she could do more than evade, the chamber echoed with the pained howl of Treeya, as she clutched her head, her eyes swirling pools of darkness.

Perhaps a year earlier, Liara would have frozen in terror and indecision at seeing a malice from asari legends come to life and attack her friends. Perhaps she would have fallen prey to the unnatural aura of the creature.

But compared to Sovereign, or the horrors she had glimpsed in Shepard's mind, this was a pale imitation, a deluded, insane thing only fit to be put down.

Her corona ignited, and with a shout, she unleashed her power. The Ardat-Yakshi glided away from the wave of crushing biotic force, detonated the throw field with one of her own, shrugged off the stasis - then her composure and smirking aloofness distorted into a hateful grimace when a pair of singularities yanked her off the floor, breaking off her connection to Treeya, the young asari dropping into a sobbing, twitching heap.

Before Liara could capitalize on the vulnerability of the monster, the Ardat-Yakshi's biotic field pulsed, detonating both singularities, with Liara barely managing to shield herself and her companions. Mocking laughter echoed in the chamber, the cruel sound caressing the soul of the young asari with a sensual touch.

Her eyes widened as she took in the creature floating before her. While the Ardat-Yakshi's biotic corona was still alight, that was not what kept her in the air - instead, wings of shadows and whispering voices emanated from its back, pulsing to the beat of an unnatural heart, tendrils of the nightmarish stuff scenting the air, questing for prey, for pleasure… The beast raised a blue-wreathed hand, then the chamber was filled once again with the sound of biotic fields extinguishing one another with thunderous impacts, and it was all Liara could do to ward off the biotic assaults hurled at her.

In a way, the barrage of varied telekinetic manipulations, singularities, warp fields, and stasis traps were calming and usual - she had seen and endured them often, whether in combat or during sparring; and after having fought at the side of an N7 Delta and a krogan Battlemaster, she had a fair amount of proficiency in evading and countering them. What she never expected, not even after seeing legends come to life, were the insidious assaults on her senses and mind. The worming, tempting whispers to simply lay down and quit fighting. The sensual siren song calling for her to submit to the other, to open her mind, heart and body for the Ardat-Yakshi to use. The chains of futility and dread attempting to weigh her down. Tendrils of doubt and jealousy aiming to pierce her mind, to distort her memories into hateful caricatures.

Liara's face twisted into a mask of hate, as she looked up at the smirking, floating monster. Words came to her then, welling up from the depths of her mind, demanding release, promising retribution and a proper conveying of her feelings toward the Ardat-Yakshi. Words in a language that she had never studied herself, but instead has inherited with a careless meld from a man she had so much to thank for. Words of a language that she had used before, saw their effectiveness with her own eyes - and felt the price in her soul. Yet, here, now, she felt that it was fitting that she react so.

The mocking, disdaining smirk of the Ardat-Yakshi was wiped off by the first grating, unhuman syllables that tore themselves from the young asari's throat, echoing in the chamber and the depths of the creature's soul. For so long, it considered herself an apex predator, a queen of darkness and power - and yet for all her centuries of wickedness, of power-crazed orgies of sensuality and destruction, she felt terrified once more. The unsane words tore into her deepest being, flensed her soul, triggered instincts more befitting a prey animal. Masking her fear with rage, she hurled her power at the maiden with the glowing blue eyes.

A vortex of power and debris spun into being around the floating monster, as she tore off inert pods to hurl them at her foe, only to be thwarted by a biotic pulse, stopped with a lift field, or turned into nothingness with a word. Tentacles of shadows and emotions speared the maiden, and the Ardat-Yakshi screamed when the insane gibbering burned them away. She thought to crush her rival's insensate companions, but her attempts were punished with a shout of rage that threw her across the chamber's wall - and what's worse, she could feel a deep yearning, a calling, a closing hunger from somewhere … and she felt that this was coming for her. With a shout of effort, she unleashed her biotics once again, and for a moment, the depths of the ruined Prothean complex shone with a harsh blue light - then an explosion rocked the ruins, and all went black.

When Liara regained consciousness, her only company was the catatonic Treeya and the comatose Sara, leaving her hoping that it was all a nightmare, even as the tell-tale taste of blood in her mouth, along with the burning sensation of a biotic overuse were all pointing to the contrary. She staggered over to the wrecked instruments, called for medical assistance - then, before she once again fell into darkness, she allowed herself a moment of relief as one particular stasis pod was still appearing to be functional and intact.

The Illusive Man and Shepard would both be proud, she thought.

* * *

 **A/N** : In response to a guest reviewer - you are correct, another scene with Lawson/Cerberus-on-SA action would have been useful; it was a mistake on my part not to include it. I can blame it on laziness and a too-overzealous pruning of dangling threads and scenes. Unfortunately, in this case, as you point it out, it WOULD have been much better. Sorry for missing that opportunity :(


	28. Chapter 20

**Aite, Typhon system (24/12/2183)**

It was one of the most worrying and simultaneously most hopeful events the emissary had witnessed since it ventured out from the Perseus Veil. Admittedly, the two strange companions who took it in were more welcoming than even the most optimistic projections suggested beforehand, but it would have been exceedingly unwise to base any kind of further analysis or forecast on them - after all, those two were very, very far from conventional humanity. Still, their continued course generated a positive feedback in the majority of the runtimes composing Legion - in a way, the consensus was that its constituents were experiencing the geth equivalent of hope.

Of course, there was still no consensus about how and why the _Argo_ moved in such random directions; the technology behind Major Pieterzoon's compass beyond the understanding of the geth runtimes. A poll conducted during an earlier period discarded the idea that the two organics were playing an elaborate prank on Legion. Neither the platform's built-in sensors, nor the _Argo_ 's highly sophisticated equipment was able to pick up any kind of radiation or energy being transmitted, received, or produced by it - but then again, the selfsame instruments did not register anything out of the ordinary whenever Professor Yildirim employed abilities beyond what could be classified as extremely powerful biotics. The data gathering, while not yielding results, was still ongoing, and Legion's runtimes were forming quite a number of hypotheses about the source and implications of these unexplainable events - indeed, that started already at the first contact.

Assigning a lower priority to that line of thought, Legion focused once again on the immediate vicinity. The presence of deactivated geth platforms, along with corrupted geth runtimes was not a surprise, considering the nominal task of the facility they gleaned from the data banks. The consensus among the emissary's runtimes was that, while unfortunate, this was a logical and arguably necessary step on part of the humans, especially in light of the actions taken by the heretics during the Saren Crisis. The worrisome factor was the presence of technology beyond the current projected capabilities of both humans and heretic geth, yet clearly influencing both organics and synthetics in a corruptive, addictive way. The limited, cursory analysis Legion was able to perform on such pieces of archeotech showed similarity with the promised upgrades suggested by Nazara-Giver-of-Future, but were at the very least an order of magnitude more sophisticated and effective. A more in-depth examination may have yielded more reliable, more precise estimates, but the emissary concurred with its organic companions about the possible dangers presented by such an endeavour without taking precautions. Thus, the findings were recorded, with a small number of runtimes dedicated to extrapolate and theorize based on the available information, providing the results at a later juncture.

Not surprisingly, the humans did not limit their invasive, in-depth research to geth platforms, as several mutilated bodies of varied age and gender could attest to it, with log entries conveying the examination processes, surgeries, and the seemingly inevitable breakdowns in minute detail. Unsurprisingly, when revealed, such data (or rather, the means by which it was procured) evoked an appropriate emotional reaction from Major Pieterzoon, and even Professor Yildirim displayed emotion - and just like above Mahavid, all runtimes reported sensing the same simulated experience, along with the sharp drop in temperature.

The ostensibly Cerberus-ran complex designated as Atlas Station was now quiet, only two others present apart from Legion and its companions - a man designated as Doctor Gavin Archer, head researcher of the facility, and the final test subject, David Archer; according to the logs, the younger brother of the researcher.

Eminently, neither the Major nor the Professor were content with the fact that David was alive, and both took exception at the degree to which he had been modified cybernetically - or rather, to the methods and particulars involved in the cyberization process. The available data pointed at surprisingly invasive surgeries, compounded by emotional neglect and a morally dubious way of obtaining consent for performing them. Legion's first hypothesis was that arguably abusing the family connection and blood relation was why both its companions were displaying such anger towards Doctor Archer.

While that organic viewpoint was useful from a data gathering perspective, the consensus of Legion's runtimes was to prioritize the more harmful implications inherent in the research conducted here. Admittedly, the code upgrades done to David and the geth runtimes on-station were impressive in their efficiency, improving cognitive functions in several aspects, creating a more complex, evolved intelligence - yet at the same time, there was something subtly wrong with it, insidious scraps of code clinging to the structure, backdoors for subverting, degrading, chaining the improved beings to another's will.

Legion admired the genius inherent in creating such a complex piece of coding, yet simultaneously, all runtimes were appalled at the resulting slavery. An immediate consensus formed, the high-priority directive was issued to avoid this path at all costs, flagging the patterns and methods used by the scrapcode for the greater Geth Consensus for future reference and analysis. While far from an absolute certainty, Legion theorized that at the very least, the Consensus could find a way to detect and ward off attempts at using similar methods to control the geth.

The emissary could not (would not?) stop an eyeflap-raise, as Doctor Archer was sent sprawling by a single strike of Major Pieterzoon. The Professor, meanwhile, moved to stand before the mutilated body of David Archer. The room's ambient temperature was dropping fast, hoarfrost creeping up the walls, instruments, creating swirling patterns on the floor. The monitors and computers of the laboratory went into overdrive, tides of data scrolling on the screens almost too fast for Legion to catch and comprehend.

The Professor's eyes lit up with warm, golden radiance.

And Legion, Emissary of the Geth Consensus, watched with rapt attention as the code, that tantalizing, treacherous, enslaving gift, was transforming into a pure, clean matrix of communication, of self-improvement, of possibility for evolving - while cutting out, burning away the malicious, alien scrapcode. It was beautiful in its implications, its efficiency, a marvel of computing almost on par with the twisted horror it emerged from - yet all the possible inferiority was negated by the lack of backdoors, of traps, of enslaving protocols. It did not force an evolutionary jump on the recipient, did not overwrite an existing sentience - it merely provided a pathway along which a cybernetic intelligence could evolve.

The geth platform, home to over a thousand runtimes, ran a quick query of its internal databanks, accumulated experience, compared and contrasted it with situations offering similarities in various belief systems. A consensus formed, and Legion vocalized the resulting conclusion.

"You are _our_ god."

* * *

 **? (24/12/2183)**

 _The darkness was alive - and it was a horrible, twisted, malformed travesty of an unnatural existence, distorted to serve some perfectly logical yet utterly wrong aim. It was alive, and it was coming to swallow her, just as it did her partner, her friend, her lover..._

 _She never believed in the existence of Evil, but what she saw then was more than enough to convince her. The rows and rows of cold, sterile plasteel cylinders, each containing a wide-awake batarian suspended in some liquid, their mouths and eyes open in unheard howls of agony as their skin grayed to a dull color before partially flaking off, the flesh undulated, took on a metallic sheen, became threaded with bluish-green veins of circuitry, strange, metallic components bubbled and burrowed beneath the skin. She fought back her nausea, wishing that the process was at least fast - yet from all she and her partner saw, it was anything but - she had seen torture methods in the Terminus and Omega that were kinder than this._

 _Another chamber, with a complex, loathsome engine where the batarian husks were fused together in a grotesque amalgamation with still-alive humans, the thrashing, writhing, screaming agony of the dying people all too evident of the mindbreaking pain they had to endure as cybernetics wound their way along their spines, brains, discarding and remaking organs, flesh, bones alike, to form an oversized cannon._

 _The Pool of Dark Gods within the depths of the Hegemon's Palace, the void-black liquid metal whispering dark promises with a silky, reverberating voice of irresistible power, the ruined, cast down Pillars of Strength partially consumed by the noxious, jealous stuff, dozens of high-caste batarians kneeling in worship at its shore, gulping the vile fluid even as the thing within supped on their souls, demanding more - always more._

 _The unearthly, bloated form of the Hegemon, shining with a soul-searing yellow radiance of power, volcanic veins bulging and writhing beneath his skin, distant thunder rumbling beyond his basso voice, the eyes seeming to stare directly at her and her partner - and she could have sworn that something else, an infinite, timeless malice was looking out to the galaxy with unquenchable hunger, as the words reverberated in the suffocating darkness._

 _" **PREPARE YOURSELF FOR THE ARRIVAL.** "_

The petite, pale Asian woman awoke with a silent scream, her throat too hurt and constricted to fully give voice to the memory of terror, her hands cold and slippery on the grip of her pistol. At least she did not start shooting randomly, or awoke the whole floor with her panic.

She never wanted to go there, especially not since the attack on Terra Nova - yet he insisted, and she could not say no to him, could not leave him to face the dangers alone; and besides, they vowed that if it came to that, they would walk into hell at each other's side. In hindsight, that was precisely what they were about to do.

Of course, it was well-known that humans were not tolerated within the Hegemony, unless as slaves; and with the Shadow Broker's allegiance in question, the usual routes were deemed too dangerous, forcing them to improvise. Of course, they had done countless infiltrations to high-security locations, so while both expected difficulties, ultimately it was thought to be a challenging obstacle, a fun intellectual and physical exercise, nothing more.

How utterly wrong they both were.

Sure, getting planetside was comparatively easy, despite the increased efficiency of batarian scanners and security personnel - which already should have tipped them off about how bad the situation really was. After all, the batarians were never famous for technical inventiveness or the high quality of their gear (well, apart from the highest elites of the governing caste), yet now they were using tech on par with those of the asari … and deploying them on border patrols and routine security checks.

Still, both of them were very experienced when it came to avoiding such advanced measures; after all, apart from a handful of truly elite individuals, they were the best in their chosen profession. They landed, managed to set up a safe house, and spent a week trying to gather enough intelligence via electronic measures, to no avail. The encryption employed was on par with the top of the line Council coding, the intruder detection, watchdogs and deadly countermeasures, numerous traps built into an insanely complex protective mesh that would have given even the best STG agents pause. While she and her partner were no slouches when it came to infowarfare, this was an obstacle they could not pass - or at least, not without drawing attention on themselves, and they both agreed it would be better to avoid that, if possible.

Being aware that their window of opportunity was closing slowly but inexorably, the dark glory of the unnatural city looming over them, eroding their will with subtle whispers, with minuscule but eye-searing wrongness, as if the whole city, the whole planet itself was aware, ready to swallow the intruders into its artificial gullet. The two of them spent a few more days planning a physical infiltration, and then … and then, they saw it. She did not know how they got out from that palace of horrors, managed to access the escape vessel procured for a hasty exit. Sure, she had snippets, images, but her mind, her consciousness did its level best not to dwell on them too much. They managed to escape from Hierarchy space barely, made their way to Omega - and that was where things went even more wrong.

She did not know how those humans found them, but she and her partner barely managed to get away from the "safe" house - but got separated, as that wonderful idiot selflessly, thoughtlessly drew the pursuers away from her, knowing full well that she could get away much easier on her own; after all, while he may have been better with tech, infiltration was always her forte.

For weeks, she had no idea what became of him; desperately clinging to hope she ceaselessly monitored all prearranged channel and dead-drop they ever discussed or used, carefully scouted out all potentially reliable contacts he might have used.

A part of her knew the truth, though confirmation arrived from elsewhere. She wept, railed against Fate, against the batarians, the SA, a salarian Spectre, her stubborn, heroic partner. She vented her rage on the rented apartment, tearing, clawing, shooting it to pieces, before she simply shut down for a few days, barely even surviving. If not for her memories, she would have joined him - but then, his sacrifice would have been meaningless, and more importantly, the bastard responsible for it would have gotten away. And nobody took someone this important from her, and walked away unscathed.

She composed herself, made herself presentable, and made the call to the supplied address - and as she saw the face of the man on the screen, Kasumi Goto finally smiled a genuine smile, the first in weeks.

"Hello, Mr. Gunn; I have seen your profile in Badass Weekly, and I suspect we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."

* * *

 **Nos Astra, Ilium (24/12/83)**

Ever since their departure from Omega, Bray felt as if he was walking on eggshells when dealing with his boss - well, on thinner and more explosive ones than usual. The exiled Queen of Omega did not enjoy the situation, and when some enterprising being with more balls than brains tried to remind her on her predicament or take advantage of it, well, Bray was getting mightily tired of scrubbing the floor, walls, and ceiling clean. Of course, he technically could have delegated the work, but with the mood Aria was in, he did not want to take chances, and tick her off even more. At least she still did pay well, and was sane enough to include a compensation for the extra services not in the batarian's core duties.

Even so, Bray fervently wished to return to their usual place, where the biggest problems were idiot mercs and moronic Terminus warlords, with the occasional Spectre or two thrown in for good measure. Sure, it was an insane life, but it was comfortable and predictable in its insanity, he knew all the steps of that dance, all the players involved … and most importantly, he did not need to constantly prove himself to everyone, only Aria (well, and the occasional brainless challenger to his position, but that came with the territory). Here on Ilium, despite the whole planet being technically a law-abiding, respectable community, he got into more altercations than on Omega. Of course, quite a number of those little affairs were done to probe and test his boss, see if her old edge was blunted, now that she was temporarily ousted from her seat of power. Most of the fools never knew what hit them.

The reports from their remaining contacts on Omega were not encouraging, to say the least. Nyreen's Talons were holding out, keeping mostly to themselves and protecting the civilians in the areas under their control, but that was about all the turian merc and her band could do. The Blue Suns and Eclipse were slowly edging closer to a joint coup against the overwhelming Blood Pack, but with the numbers Garm had on-station, Bray estimated that Jaroth and Tarak had no real chance on beating the krogan warlord. Though that coup, if either the turian or the salarian had the balls to pull it off, just might weaken the three main merc bands enough for Aria to stage a triumphant return. After all, she and her people did not spend their exile idly lazing and pining for the past glories. That was never Aria's way. Still, without the usual resources at her disposal, cajoling, threatening, and bribing the forces necessary to take back the station was a slow process. And of course she scoffed at the offers of both the Council in general and the SA in particular - she did not want to take back Omega just to have it turned into a military outpost for whatever Council flunky, with Aria in nominal charge. No, she would take her station back on her own terms.

Of course, there were a number of warlords and merc leaders who offered help, just to secure a future favor, a better disposition, or some extra rights and concessions from Aria - and a few of them, the more honest ones, actually did sign on. Yet, at Bray's last count, their ragtag fleet and ground forces were not entirely up to the task in his opinion. While he estimated that even with the numbers based off Nyreen's estimates, they could take on Garm's forces, he advised caution due to the still-unknown capabilities and numbers of the Collectors backing the Blood Pack. Admittedly, the attack on Fehl Prime a month ago was a veritable goldmine of information, but with the Shadow Broker unreliable, the price and quality of such information was questionable, at best. Perhaps that was the most frustrating thing, in Bray's opinion - the lack of more, reliable intel … and the implications behind the Broker's turn from neutrality.

Thus, he and his boss had to carefully consider all offers of support - even those just like the one they were currently waiting for, which came out of practically nowhere, from previously-unknown parties. Hopefully, these idiots would be punctual, and able to offer some genuine support.

Despite occupying a secluded, private booth with good views on the access points, Bray only spotted the newcomer when the human female sat down across from Aria with an insolent grin on her face. The asari glared at Bray for a second, before she turned towards the woman. The tall merc was wearing an ornate full-body armor that hugged her figure closely, displaying a shape that would distract quite a few sentients - yet that was not the (main/only) reason Bray was studying her closely. Well, actually, it was because of her figure - she was tall for a human woman, but that alone would not have been too outstanding. No, what caught Bray's attention was the subtle wrongness in proportion, the slenderness which should have been an indication to slave-like malnutrition in a human. Sure, it may have been genetic modification, but in the batarian's opinion and knowledge, gene-modded humans usually went for bulk and muscle - of course, he reminded himself that vanity and sex appeal were also possible reasons, and she was perhaps going for some kind of human variant of weaponizing her race's idealized looks, similar to the asari huntresses.

At any rate, the fact that she got in undetected was a promising start, even if Aria would have words with him later on. He did not see the faint shimmers of a thermoptic cloak (though he would have been impressed if a merc was able to get that tech), and using biotics to close was out of question, what with the distinct lack of sonic booms.

"Very impressive entry." Aria's voice was dry as she leaned back comfortably on her sofa.

"I do try." Bray was surprised at the lilting, musical accent of the human, and his eyes narrowed as he strained to hear the strange undertones in her voice. "Would you care for a bit of verbal sparring, or shall we cut to the chase, spare both of us time?"

The asari raised an eyebrow, tilted her head slightly.

"Well now, a merc who seems to have more than two brain cells." Her smile was just the slightest bit predatory. "I like the idea, but you would have to remove that helmet first, I do not like to deal with faceless, disposable lackeys."

Bray caught the minuscule tension in the human's posture, and inwardly chuckled even as he readied himself, in case her self-control lapsed. The helmet turned towards him for a brief instant, and he could have sworn he felt a glare boring into his very soul.

"Very well." Slender, long-fingered hands reached up towards the helmet, and with a hiss of depressurized air, the human's face became visible, and Bray's eyes widened for a second, before narrowing suspiciously. Yes, she was very, very similar to a human - but again, there were those subtly wrong proportions. The sharp, elongated face, radiating confidence and arrogance. The canted, luminous eyes, forbidden power and ancient knowledge shimmering within them. The sharply tapered ears. The alien agelessness. No, whatever this being might be, it was not human, not even a gene-modded one.

"What are you?" Aria's tone was gruff, with an undertone that threatened violence. The alien chuckled.

"I am Yr'Arenn of the Aeldari." Bray could barely control himself not to shoot her in the head for the sheer arrogance of her tone, and he could see that Aria herself was having to clamp down on her instincts as well. "And while your reactions are entertaining to watch, I believe we have something more pressing to discuss."

"Make your words count, aeldari - they may determine your lifespan."

"My people are willing to help you regain control of Omega, Aria T'Loak."

The asari chuckled, leaning back.

"Obvious, otherwise you would not be here. But why is an unknown race so eager to help me? What do you want in exchange?"

"Is it so difficult to believe that someone would simply want to help a fellow sentient?" Again, Bray struggled for a second to avoid blowing a hole into the smug alien's head. She was deliberately provoking them, he was sure of that. Well, she could enjoy her little mindgames, Aria would eat her raw if it came to a real confrontation. The laughter of the asari was a cold, mocking sound.

"Spare me your falsehoods, girl. I have seen vorcha lie better than you." Aria's eyes narrowed, glowed with power. "Now, tell me the real reason before I smear the walls with you, bitch."

"The enemy of my enemy is, if not exactly a friend, then at the very least someone who can be dealt with much, much later. My people have a rather old grudge against the ones you call the Collectors, and we would love to see them beaten." The aeldari smiled a vicious little smirk. "And in return? Well, give us the benefit of doubt."

"Very poetic, but this is not a talent show. Speak plainly."

"I see the rumors about you were all too true, Queen of Omega." The aeldari's voice was mockingly sweet. "But if you insist, then I'll be plain. When my people tell you something outrageous, something seemingly impossible, just do not discard it out of hand, but consider it very, very carefully." The alien's eyes glowed with power, and the temperature dropped sharply, their breaths pluming. "We do not lie. There is no reason for it. Consider your choice wisely, Aria T'Loak, Queen of Omega. We both want the same thing - you, back at the head of your private empire, enjoying the fruits of centuries of struggles."

The aeldari's tone became somehow less arrogant, almost wistful.

"Believe me, we understand all too well what it means to struggle for years beyond counting to achieve your goal, your revenge. We can respect that dedication. If you do not trust us, that is fine - we all know that at some later point, you will take back Omega." The certainty in her voice surprised Bray. "The real question is whether you are willing to deal with the aftermath of that path to your victory. To spend effort to become free from shackles once again."

The voice dropped almost to a whisper.

"We know of others whom you might easily convince to help. Your old friend, the krogan Spectre would relish the challenge." Bray's eyes widened, especially at Aria's reaction. "Whether you fan those old flames or appeal to his base nature, he would side with you if you asked. But I am not telling you anything you yourself haven't thought, am I? So, what shall it be, Queen of Omega?"

"Very well, aeldari."

The lithe alien stood, placed the helmet back on her head, her parting whisper echoing in Bray's mind long after the woman vanished as suddenly as she arrived.

"A wise choice, _Aleena_."

* * *

 **Tuchanka, Clan Ganar territory (24/12/83)**

Tali's hands were shaking. She thought that after Virmire, Saren, and the harrowing Urdnot Rite of Passage, nothing could terrify her (well, maybe nothing apart from spiders), but she was learning otherwise, fast. And worst of all, she had no-one else to blame for it, and in hindsight, there were obvious indications that this would not be a mere diplomatic visit. After all these months, she should have realized the minute signals of tension in Wrex. She should have noted the extra precautions taken by Professor Solus. She should have realized that too many of the krogan selected to accompany them were amongst those whom Wrex did not trust entirely. And most of all, she should have realized that any such sidetrip, no matter how important, would result in having to deal with Tuchankan sand. She swore that next time, she'd stay back, and tinker with the toys Wrex' contacts had gotten them.

Still, despite all her shaking and terror, she had to focus. She was the daughter of a quarian Admiral, a member of Clan Urdnot, and the quarian whose Pilgrimage resulted in a chance of finally setting things right, after three centuries. With narrowed eyes, she glared at the massive krogan standing opposite Wrex - and she almost recoiled as she realized how thick with tension the atmosphere was between the two. Oh, she would have her bosh'tet uncle's hide when they got back - he should have warned her that there was history or bad blood between him and this Okeer. Or rather, she would quietly fume to herself, and not yell at him, lest he make some remark on her not knowing the clan's history. Yes, better to keep silent; Tali, much to her surprise, did not really want to upset her adoptive self-styled uncle. Then again, she mused with a brief grin, very few people would want to upset Wrex, as he tended to make his displeasure known violently. With a mental headshake, she focused on the two warlords again.

"You keep talking, whelp, but I'm not hearing much sense." The Ganar warlord's voice was a surprisingly pleasant, smooth baritone Tali could not help but like … which made her angry at the bosh'tet. He was clinging too much to the krogan past, why could he not see that?

"You want sense, Okeer?" Wrex laughed, a mocking, derisive tone in his voice. "Despite all you did, despite how I want to tear you apart, I'm still here, talking to you, because I know that for all your talk about past glories, you are not stupid enough to ignore them. You realize as much as I do what a chance we have here, now."

"Yes, I do. And I know too well why the other clans would not follow me." Okeer grinned maliciously, his tone mocking. "Then again, they will only follow you if you beat sense into their thick skulls. Or were you planning something else, illustrious leader?"

"Most of the clans are lead by young whelps who don't know better. Aside from the two of us, only Drack remembers the old times; the rest are deluded fools trapped in dreams of glory." Wrex smiled a predator's grin. "I will drag them to glory, whether they want it or not."

"What glory, Wrex?" The Ganar warlord's voice was sickeningly sweet and infuriatingly reasonable. "You would have us play the Council's attack varren again, and you are talking about not being chained to the past? You would have us submit to the will of those weaklings, just because you fear to stand alone against the coming storm?" Okeer laughed. "You are a foolish whelp, Wrex. We are krogan. We stand, we fight, and most of all, we survive, no matter the odds!"

"Who is the fool, Okeer? I have seen what these Reapers do with my own eyes. I have killed the mockeries they made of our kind on Virmire, ..."

"Virmire was merely a test batch." Okeer's eyes glowed with manic fervor. "I have progressed much farther beyond that."

"You were the one who worked with that bastard Saren?"

"And why shouldn't I? The results Droyas' experiments got were instrumental in my work for overcoming the genophage; with those results, I can finally inflict the greatest humiliation on the salarian's little toy, and ignore its very existence." The Ganar warlord grinned, showing too many teeth. "My followers, my people, my creations will shrug off and ignore the genophage, as true warriors should. And they will spread our wrath across the galaxy, avenging all indignities we have suffered, and taking our proper place as..."

Okeer's rant was cut off by the boom of displaced air, and the Ganar warlord was sent flying by a blue-limned fist.

"You talk too much." Wrex growled, his shotgun unfolding as he aimed at Okeer's head, Tali and the rest of the krogan only then beginning to react - then Okeer laughed, gestured, and his people howled as one.

Tali could not suppress a horrified gasp as the bodies of the Ganar warriors undulated and moved as if something was burrowing beneath their armor and skin. Their eyes lit up with a sickly green glow, as the suppurating, cracking flesh gave way to glowing eezo nodes, as organic wiring threaded its way through muscles. The plating of the krogan dulled to a dark gray sheen, its texture and composition a loathsome mixture of organic and metallic. The bodies of the monstrosities bulked out, growing in size, yet paradoxically they seemed to become less and less substantial, less … solid, as if the extra mass was intruding from somewhere else, the mere sight of the flickering, dark-veined stuff was burning at Tali's eyes even across the HUD of her suit. And for a moment, Tali struggled with nausea at the stench flooding the meeting place, seeming to emanate from the transforming krogan, a wave of foulness that seemed to burn its way through filters, seals and nose without stopping, worming its way into everyone's brain and guts alike - and she was inordinately proud of herself for not throwing up, unlike two of the Urdnot.

She noticed Wrex stepping back, his whole stance radiating stunned disbelief as he studied the growling creatures slowly moving to encircle him.

"You are insane, Okeer." His voice was calm. Too calm. "You went and messed with those Beyond. You know there is a reason the shamans have cautioned against that."

"What do I care about outdated superstition!" The Ganar warlord rose to his full height, his biotics outlining his form with a blue corona of light. "Behold, my greatest creations, the future of our race - and enjoy what few moments you have from your..."

Again, he was interrupted, this time by a blue blur and a thundering boom from an oversized Claymore, but Okeer's barrier and shield held, if barely. The usual bloodthirsty, savage glee of a fight was absent from Wrex' face, as he sent Okeer stumbling with a barely-countered lift field, an overload charge from the side shorted out the warlord's shield, the Claymore boomed once more, tearing away barrier and flesh alike - and then Wrex was buried under half dozen abominations.

With a savage roar, the Urdnot warriors finally managed to react, and a part of Tali realized with a distant shock how few precious seconds elapsed since Wrex first hit Okeer. Then, she was amidst a howling, roaring melee of close to three dozen krogan and abomination. Her omnitool flashed, sending an overload charge at one of the bloated monsters, and she shied back a step as it turned towards her, towering over the slender quarian, the singed protoplasmic flesh bubbling and undulating under its armor, before it opened its maw and roared with an unholy screech of living metal.

Wrex burst from under the pile of monsters with the boom of displaced air, his plate scorched and dented at places, something horribly alive wriggling in a blue-limned fist for a second, before a pulse of his biotics tore it apart. The Urdnot battlemaster spared a glance to check for Okeer, but the other warlord vanished. Wrex turned towards the Ganar abominations intent on bringing him down, his whole stance radiating such a menace that even those monsters hesitated for a moment, before their instincts overrode their brains.

The first opened its maw to roar a challenge, but the old warlord tore off its lower jaw with one hand, rammed his shotgun into the bloody wreck of the face. The incendiary charge sent burning meat and scorched metal flying, the protoplasmic bulk burning away in a greasy smoke. The second was caught in a singularity for a heartbeat, before a warp field slammed into it, showering the battlefield with bits and pieces of the destroyed monster. The third abomination actually managed to evade Wrex' shot, only to stumble as an incendiary charge hit him from the side, and for a brief moment, the hazy outlines of a one-horned salarian was visible, then the old doctor was occluded by the spray of metal and flesh, as Wrex drove his blue-limned fist into its center, pulsing his biotics with expert timing. The fourth was distracted for a moment by a pistol shot from Mordin, before Wrex slammed into it like a biotic freight train, the sound of breaking bones and tearing metal a chilling symphony - but far more worrying were the threads of protoplasmic matter clinging to and crawling all over the Urdnot warlord, questing towards openings on his armor, ways to burrow within - before Tali's eyes narrowed, and with a sweep of her omnitool, sent electricity crawling over the old krogan, burning away the unnatural substance. Wrex did not falter for even a heartbeat, dodged the swipes and shots of the last two creatures, before he sent one sprawling with a biotic backhand, swept the legs of the other. The fight ended with the stomp of the warlord and the roar of his shotgun.

The battlemaster looked around, nodded towards Tali, and beckoned Mordin closer - the salarian dropped his tactical cloak, but was clearly more interested in examining the rapidly-dissolving corpses, his omnitool recording, as he hummed to himself. Tali tensed for a moment, as Wrex turned to her, his eyes lingering significantly on her omnitool.

"And now you see why I consider the pyjack and the quarian better than most of you." Wrex grinned at his surviving warriors. "Unlike you, they both have a quad."

The smile faded from his face, as his voice dropped to a threatening growl.

"And the next time you idiots think you know better than me, remember this day." His eyes glowed with power and conviction. "I will drag our people to glory, but we will not be mindless slaves or soulless husks obeying ancient horrors to sate the bloodlust that sings in our veins. We will show the galaxy, the Council our honor. We will show them our mettle." The grin that spread on his face was distinctly predatory. "And when all is said and done, those who wronged us will feel our justice."

* * *

 **Distant depths/Beyond (Time: meaningless/concurrent)**

They had made a mistake once, in aeons past. A grievous, almost fatal lapse of judgment when their hubris stayed their wrath - and those who warred on them in vain, were not content to meekly stand aside. In their mad quest for vengeance and power, the short-lived brutes willingly gave themselves to a new master, and the galaxy echoed with the birth-cry of an unnatural nightmare as the freshly-spawned abomination raged against life and the natural order itself.

They resisted, of course. Mastery of the galaxy was their birthright, after all - yet that time, they realized how blind they were. In their own quest for knowledge and power Beyond, they never cared or realized how such rivalling, antithetical beings could haunt reality - but now, those beings, would-be masters of all things material, usurpers to the title of the apex race, reached out and twisted the vengeful, petty lifeforms, entombing them into mindless servitude, only good for venting their rage and feeding the new, eternally hungry masters.

New servitors were tailored, modified specifically to aim at the perceived weaknesses of the infant menace, intent on snuffing them out with a living weapon multiplying even in death, reaching numbers beyond counting. Along the openly menacing, brutish hammer of the bioweapon, they spun into being other servitors, tailored for much more delicate work, investing them with shades of their power, using them for the eldritch rituals as both attendants and fuel.

The Apex Race even reached out to those beings they knew to dwell Beyond the confines of reality - while they did not worship them, ever, the members of the Apex Race were not insane enough to completely ignore them. After all, those foreign entities were in a way their progenitors; they simply lacked the interest and the will to dominate this layer of reality, content to be embroiled in their own schemes, the scale of which was beyond even the Apex Race's comprehension.

Thus, during the war when the heavens burned, the self-appointed High Priest of the Apex Race managed to force an unprecedented level of cooperation from his solitary, predatory kind, and for an indefinite amount of time, they managed to turn the tide with powers and knowledge gained from the Opener of Ways and the Herald of All. The undying abominations arrayed against them were no match against them, even their godlike masters powerless to resist - for a short while anyway.

Again, pride and arrogance blinded the Apex Race, and the deeper reality rang with the echoing laughter of the Herald, as their enemies rallied against them - one of those wrestled the secrets of the higher dimensions, its deceptive whisperings warping the minds of some of the Apex Race, who blindly betrayed their kin, unknowingly sealing their own doom. Another fought with cold hatred, striking against the thrall races, instilling fear into their mind, weakening the hold of the Apex Race. The third gorged itself on power in its unrivalled hunger, uncaringly consuming all in its path, ally and foe alike. The fourth, the most dangerous of all, watched, analyzed, understood - and from that understanding, that cold, unfeeling knowledge came the dawn of a new vessel for the power and hunger of its kind, a synthesis of all that made them dangerous to their enemies, a proof that even those unfeeling, uncaring star-gods could be forced to such desperate measures and coordinated effort.

The heavens trembled as the Harbinger of Tsara'noga's Wrath vented its fury on the Apex Race, subsuming their very souls into its own, feeding on their torment and knowledge, spawning lesser copies of itself as the tides turned, the once-proud masters of the galaxy forced to fight a losing war, unable and unwilling to bring their collective might to bear against their reapers even when it might have saved them.

The broken few remnants of the once-proud race scattered across the galaxy and beyond, their servitors forced to flee deep into the network of tunnels a half-step to the side of reality, barely managing to avoid the burning wrath of Nyadra'zatha. The few survivors of the Apex Race retreated into the dark depths of distant worlds to ride out the storm, confident that their foes would consume each other in the wake of their victory - and thus, they were caught off-guard when the old enemy seeded the galaxy with a network of relays that suppressed much of the power inimical to them, denying the Apex Race the chance to rise again to their full glory unaided, cutting off one servitor race from this layer of reality, and depriving the bioweapon from its already-limited sentience.

For a time, silence and the peace of the grave reigned over the galaxy, with the scant survivors slowly emerging from their hideouts, intent on rebuilding after the harvest, creating and uplifting new servitors, establish their dominance once again - only to scurry back when the old foe returned, scouring the galaxy once again. The same events played out a few more times, before the handful of survivors, led by the High Priest, tried to force open the Gate, or at least get a glimpse from the Way Beyond, to better adjust their plans.

Without their usual servitors, numbers, and power, getting the attention of the Opener of the Ways was much, much more difficult, their limited numbers making it quite clear that even considering forcing a confrontation was beyond insanity. A glimpse would have to be enough - and that was all they received. For others, the sheer scale involved, coupled with the very low chances would have been enough of a deterrent, but not for the Apex Race - after all, they had time to plan, and the drive to see their kind once again rule the stars, as was their right.

So they hid, and planned, and spun their webs of intrigue to span the gulfs of time itself, threading with great care not to draw the attention of their old foes during the feeding cycles. They studied their adversaries via proxies, to better understand the abilities they wielded. They subtly influenced sentients along the uncountable cycles, driving them all towards the endgame of the Apex Race, using and discarding these species with even more callous disregard than their ancient servitors. Still, the aeons-long project was on track, and the time to freedom tantalizingly close.

The Herald's laughter proved them wrong, as the High Priest was forced to flee, to seek shelter on a distant, unremarkable blue world, barely managing to avoid the servants of Mag'ladroth finishing the ancient hunt. Still, the plans of the Apex Race were set back by uncountable years, and more importantly, their survival was no longer a secret to their enemies, who once again searched for them during the subsequent cycles, forcing them to even more isolation, narrowing their chances at furthering their plan, making it much harder to influence the sentients of the future cycles, as the Reapers were using those traces of tampering to start tracking down careless members of the Apex Race.

Even beings like the High Priest were not safe - yet the fate of that exalted member of their kind made them realize the existence of an Anomaly. While the High Priest slept in dreamless, deathlike state on the distant blue planet, wounded almost unto death by Mag'ladroth itself, an unknown being interfered in the ancient foe's hunt, when the regenerated Star God came for the still-dreaming, still-trapped leviathan.

Wielding powers akin to those of the Apex Race, with a mastery that was unprecedented for one belonging to a lesser species, the Anomaly defeated the Dragon, their combat echoing in the higher layers of reality and beyond.

The Apex Race did not understand who or what this Anomaly was, where its powers originated, but they knew a chance when they saw one - and set plans in motion to prepare and use the Anomaly in the upcoming Harvest, to finally break free.

And, being who they were, to take vengeance on the Reapers, exacting their tribute in blood, for the aeons of indignity suffered - then to teach a lesson to the upstart primitive race and the Anomaly that took an interest in them, for the fate it dealt to the High Priest of the Apex Race, for daring to threaten them, for harboring dreams of conquest and usurping the rightful domination of the ancient leviathans.

The time of reckoning was coming.

* * *

 **A/N** : feedback is very much appreciated - reviews help in keeping the story going ;)

Guest reviewer: You do make a valid point about the shakiness and lightness of the plot; I'd say that's due to my limited talent as a writer, and the inability to properly plot out the details in advance. Also, I'm at times worried that the whole story and plot will completely kudzu away, and the preemptive pruning I'm doing is most likely leaving some (several) holes - hopefully nothing that would break the story. Am I making sense?

Also, the chapters are built from smaller, only loosely connected snippets because of IRL work (thus, limited time and energy), plus to avoid having the writing feel like work. Then I'd never get anything done :)


	29. Apocrypha - Devil's Bargain

**Devil's bargain**

+++ _transcribed vision/memory from Matriarch Miria T'Soni, 713.M5; record committed to the Collective shortly before she incinerated her acolytes and ancestral home, then ended her life via immolation_ +++

It is not supposed to happen this way.

The Reapers are gone, their ancient masters broken, shattered and imprisoned under the watchful gaze of the Collective. The Leviathan are history, their selfish arrogance sealing their fate. The galaxy is rebuilding, with humanity in ascendance, all working towards an ever-distant utopia.

There are squabbles, there is friction, as the members of the Council argue - it is to be expected, even if they are siblings in spirit. The memories of the war fade slowly, and people forget.

The aeldari are a nightmare reminder of the dark past of the galaxy - they came from the shadows, hunting, killing, conquering all. Their orgy of hate-fuelled ruin and murder further darkened the aether, lashing the already-turbulent waves of the Immaterium. A great vortex, an immense cocoon seemed to form within the depths of that unsane realm, pulsing with glee, malice, desire; feeding off the rampancy of the galaxy. It is eternal hunger eager to be born, ready to devour all that is in its desire to dominate.

It is not supposed to matter.

Worlds burn in the fires of war, of excess, of frantic research, of petty squabbles. Millions die, cursing, weeping, fighting tooth and nail against a seemingly uncaring Fate.

Plasma fires consume cities, living darkness worms its way within the soul of an entire species, and there is only blackness, blood and carnage as an aeons-deep whirlpool of Fate coming to drown everything.

An immense, red planet moves, the harbinger of doom, its baleful glare waking all that was thought dead and buried under the sands of time, its passing a haunting, maddening melody of the spheres. Extinction follows its wake, a joyous cessation of being, a return to that which sleeps, that which gave life, and that which now takes it. Nightmares from out of memory stir in its passing, devouring every soul that remained in the Harbinger's wake.

It is the end, and behind it all, cold, cruel laughter emanates from behind a thousand masks, the playwright enjoying the fruit of his labor.

The Way opens, Beyond bleeds into Here. The Immaterium screams and burns, an eternal well of time, self, memories, futures and pasts overflowing, the tidal waves of fiery awareness incinerating a whole plane of existence, consigning billions of souls into oblivion, mortal or immortal, born and neverborn alike. The flood of sentience leaves nothing but a cold, ancient awareness in its wake, ready to devour all who may have survived, for those brief moments or torturous aeons.

The eternal, lulling melody of flutes at the heart of existence stutters, then stops, as the center of the galaxy comes awake in a rapidly-expanding, frothing mass of roiling nuclear chaos, devouring stars, the void, sentients and existence alike, as the dreamed shell of physical existence ends and the primal being, the blind, idiot creator of all wakes to the call of its Herald, its Soul blazing with dark light as the dance of Fate is set to begin anew.

All this is not supposed to happen. And He is questing for a way to prevent this. To fight Fate, with Fate's own help.

On a distant world, He finds the Gate to Beyond, after searching for it for countless millennia. He knows the need for completion, for fully unlocking the terrible power and knowledge bound to His existence. Finally, after all those ages, He can and will be made whole again.

There is a price to pay, of course. Always, for everything that is worthy, there must be a sacrifice made, a bargain struck. Preventing the end of existence is not different in that, at all.

The Four do not surprise Him; then again, few events or beings do. They are so clear, so powerful, such integral parts of the ever-shifting lattice of the Empyrean that it is a wonder why and how nobody has seen Them yet. They are ancient beyond reckoning, terrible in their glory, horrific in their inhuman might - and they are slaves to their own nature, the concepts they embody.

A giant of brass and blood towers over the shifting nightmare vista littered with skulls. Bestial, insane fury and bloodlust burn in its whole being, yet it is so much more than the berserker's kill-crazy howl. It is honor, as warriors believe it. It is justice, as it's meted on the field of battle. It is violence embraced to protect, to dominate. It is defiance to stand where others buckle, a will to subjugate any and all, to protect existence with fire and blood. And it is unwilling to go gently into the night.

Life running rampant is the second, a constantly undulating, festering mass of cancerous tumors, malevolent pestilence, the choking, deadly love for all that live and exist. The pustulent, oozing collection of deformities and horrific, nightmarish protrusions exudes a profound, deeply abiding, completely uncaring love. It encourages to disregard differences, to look beyond flaws, discard the surface, and simply revel in affection, find joy in all that live, in every tiny facet of the vast organism of existence itself. Yet for the being, it is mostly a matter of numbers - and when it comes to choosing between a few and the rest of existence, it will always love and support the latter.

The third is an embryo, a cocooned husk waiting for its birth, a slavering, uncontrolled being of unchecked passion, eager to feel, to live, to kill, to create, to destroy. Unbridled, unfettered desire to excel in all things, a need to preen, to shine, to be adored, to be mutilated, to be violated in a never-ending quest for sensation and passion, all to reach that dizzying, ever-receding lofty peak that is called perfection. And to fulfill that desire, to find outlets for those passions, to be able to being born, it has to stand against the coming storm.

The fourth and final one grins a vulture's smile, as Fate itself shifts and weaves around it in an ever-changing chaos of myriad plans and possibilities. It is knowledge unchained, past and present merging into the flux that is future. It is power and dreams defined, ambition to learn and master the only worthy adversary - Destiny itself. It is hope against all odds, the fool's bet, the certainty of prediction. It is trapped in the skeins of its own web, and everything is only possible because of that entanglement. It is not a seer, its blindness to the future a weakness, yet it hopes that its plans will ensure the continuity of existence.

And against the Four stands the lone being who came to bargain. He is more like them than even a soulmate could be. He is more alien than them, His very existence a seeming polar opposite to them. He has all their qualities - all that love, that determination, that passion, that hope. In smaller measure, true, as He is not a slave of concepts - but that is His greatest strength. That, and the degree of control He can exert over all He surveys. In His present state, He is but a pale shadow of His full glory, yet even so, no Old Ones were a match to Him. When successful, even Elders, Gods will bow - or perish for their defiance.

Time is meaningless, yet infinitely short and precious here. A bargain is struck, an unholy alliance of converging interests, all to save the galaxy - an alliance that will damn all to an existence of eternal carnage under the uncaring, malevolent stars, all to fuel the masquerade of sanity, of being important, of being able to affect the cosmos.

And beyond it all, Fate smiles in a thousand ways, on thousand visages, as the eternal well flares brightly.

* * *

 **A/N** : Writing slows down due to IRL workload and a writer's block. Feedback and reviews do wonders for the latter, though ;)


	30. Interlude - Ancient Dreams

**Ancient dreams**

Time passes him by, as he delves into memories merging into the depthless well of sleep. He is no longer certain where one ends and the other begins. If not for the title and mantle he carries on his shoulder, he would have long embraced the loss of self within the ever-recurring, ever-changing facets of fragmented past. He must not allow that luxury. Even if it pains him, even it it tortures him, he will not give in. He will endure, and in enduring, forge himself into an all the more deadly instrument. He will fulfill his duty.

There were others like him, once. Their faces, their purpose were known to him, even if they have not met in person. As always, the past unfolds with brutal clarity, and as countless times before, he has to watch them wither and die one after the other.

Rulership fell first, when the enemy exploded from dark space, and laid claim to the heart of the Empire. For all his might, Rulership was never one to act in haste, and the sudden viciousness of the attack robbed him of his chance at defiance as well as his life.

Understanding was the next to perish; her sacrifice making it the subtle dangers of the invading machines painfully clear, as her very self was distorted into a broken shell. Yet even then, she lived up to her title, and did not turn into blind Thralldom - she understood, and as always, acted on that understanding, giving her people a much-needed glimpse of hope that even these god-machines can bleed, as the last effort of her will tore apart the Reaper that enslaved her.

Defiance died as she lived - with courage in her heart and a curse on her lips, as she lead her ever-diminishing fleet in dozens of battles, hoping against hope to draw enough of the Reapers away so that her people had a chance to regroup, to strike back. With the Empire crumbling around them, more and more of their people falling under the sway of indoctrination, she fought on, extracting a tribute in blood for every system, every planet, every city that fell to the accursed machines. She did so for over half a century, and when finally cornered, a whole star system became her funeral pyre, and she made sure to take numerous Reapers with her.

From Defiance's shadow came Endurance, who tried to take up the reins of the dissolving Empire, without much success - too much has been lost by then, too many key systems had been obliterated or turned, and Endurance could do no more than try to slow the inevitable end.

As the Reapers systematically dismantled the Empire, their insidious whispers warped the minds of those who could not or would not learn from the fate of Understanding. Apathy arose, along with Submission, the two turncoats giving a vain, false hope of peaceful coexistence with the nightmarish overlords. After all, would blind servitude not be preferable to extinction? He was never sure if they were simply misguided or mad - not even when he took on the mantle bestowed upon him by Endurance, and ended the lives of the miserable, traitorous wretches, avenging all those who followed them to damnation.

From that brief moment of unification, Glory was born, and he gave new direction, new hope to the remnants of the once mighty Empire, to endure long enough for a last moment to shine in their ancient glory, to carve a memory in the heart and mind of the Reaper armada - and to prevent the accursed machines from realizing that Vengeance would not be denied, and would await them at the next Harvest.

Of course, in the end, they were betrayed, and the dreams of Vengeance have been haunted by the trillions of souls howling for retribution.

Even in his present state, he bared his teeth in a snarl. He would make the Reapers pay, and at long last, the Vengeance of a dead species would break the eternal cycle.

The souls of the dead would accept no less - and his own purpose would not allow anything else.

 **A/N** : delayed by IRL workload, sadly. Will try to finish next chapter soonish.


	31. Chapter 21

**Bekenstein (10/01/2184)**

Donovan Hock felt incredibly satisfied. Sure, it took enormous resources, time and investments, but he could feel he was on the right track. With Aria gone from Omega, the shadowy lords of the Terminus fought, schemed and bled to step into her place, and rally the others to their cause. At first, he would have wagered on Ilium taking over the traffic and duties previously done by Omega, yet there was quiet on that asari planet, and for weeks, he pondered on it, even while he made deals and moved assets. Then, it hit him: the powers of Ilium were simply waiting for a new status quo to come into being, content with their previous role and influence - after all, for them, it was just legitimate business anyway. He could respect that, to an extent, especially since it meant he had one less potentially deadly situation to deal with. And now, finally, he could make his move.

Looking out to the arriving and already present movers and shakers, he fought very hard to keep the smile off his face; after all, it would not do to seem gloating. The presence of so many influential players, in person or via trusted proxies was a sign of his rising status; finally he would get the recognition due to a man of his talents. And, what was even better, almost all of the attendees to his party had known enough to show their appreciation and allegiance by presenting a token of appreciation, some of which would certainly find their way to Hock's famous vault. Tokens, pieces like the one he was surveying right now, after he spotted the bit of trouble brewing at the entrance. Sure, security had to be tight and he took a certain pride in having such diligent staff working for him, but there were limits.

Clearly, the would-be party guest had a rather impressive gift for him - the larger-than-life, golden statue of Saren Arterius was not something he thought he'd ever see, especially after the Spectre went off the deep end. Then again, maybe that's why a human merc could get his hands on it. He shrugged mentally; the important fact was that the statue was here, and soon would be in his vault, keeping good company to all the other curios. Hock frowned, studying the merc, giving only a cursory glance to the curvy brunette arm candy at his side. The man's scarred face was familiar from somewhere, but he could not remember where he'd seen it.

"Do I know you?" He could see his security people tensing just a bit, spreading out quietly, unobtrusively surrounding them.

"Solomon Gunn, Mr. Hock." There was a shade of respect and a trace of humor in the voice. "I think I only got the invite to your party because of that recent article in Badass Weekly." He grinned, showing teeth. "It seems someone on your payroll has an eye for talent."

Hock narrowed his eyes, reassessing the man before him, upgrading him from mere thug to possibly useful asset. While he did not recall specifics about the article, he knew that the site had always done good research, and one did not get mentioned there without having some serious skills, or insane luck. And he could use people with those kind of qualities. He schooled his features into a cordial smile, and let his gaze roam appreciatively over the statue, then the woman at the merc's side.

"And that person would be correct. I must say, I appreciate your eye for intriguing … artifacts."

The merc smiled, his facial scars seeming to glow faintly with orange light; likely a recent cybernetic reconstruction.

"I'm sure Yvonne here would be amenable to spend time with a luminary such as yourself, Mr. Hock. Perhaps we can discuss details later? I would not want to keep you from your more important guests."

Hock nodded, and signalled his people to stand down. Still, there was something about the man that bothered him; a nagging sense of knowing, of faint recognition, but he could not have put another name or face to this Solomon Gunn. As he watched the swaying walk of the brunette at Gunn's side, he motioned for his bodyguard.

"Signal Roe, tell her to have Gunn watched constantly."

"Will do, boss. Shall I tell her to check his identity as well?"

For a moment, Hock considered, before shaking his head.

"No need. If he does start something stupid, I trust you'll put him down, with extreme prejudice."

The bodyguard's smile was eager as he nodded, his omnitool glowing as he relayed Hock's instructions to the security chief.

The party was in full swing; that is, there were conspiracies and deals being brokered every minute, backstabbing plots, assassinations and hostile takeovers were planned by the dozens - in short, things were running according to the plan, and there were no disturbances beyond a few allegedly drunken touchings and spilled drinks. Thus, Donovan Hock did not resist the impulse to flash a satisfied, smug grin as he stepped up to the center, spreading his arms wide, and launched into the speech he prepared for just this occasion.

"My friends, it warms my heart to see how many of you accepted my invitation." He focused on modulating his voice at exactly the correct pitch to make it resonate with them, quite a feat with the numbers involved. "You are all too aware of the prejudices and dangers inherent of our world, levelled against our task, as we keep the barbarians at bay, ensuring that the average citizens have the luxury of comfort, entertainment, love. They do not see the fragility of the galaxy, they do not have to worry about the simple luxuries they take for granted, and why? Because people like us do the terrible, ruthless, thankless tasks that keep the galaxy spinning." His voice rose, an undertone of pride and triumph worming its way into the hearts and minds of the audience. "This party is for us; the cleaners, the support structure of the galaxy, the ones who make the beasts of reality simply go away. May there always be a market for the things we do! Enjoy the party to your heart's content, my friends, and remember this day well!"

The enthusiastic reaction validated his efforts, even making it easier to ignore the fatigue and the throbbing in his mind and larynx as he smiled and moved to mingle with the guests, riding the high of pulling off this feat, cementing his future as the heir of Omega in all but name. He felt like a god among men, triumphant, glorious, untouchable in his power - until his omnitool pinged, with a very specific alert, and it took all his not-inconsiderable willpower to finish his conversation calmly, collectedly, before walking to the security center.

What he saw on the monitor made his blood boil, and he opened a comm channel unthinkingly, his mind sharpening into deadly focus, projecting all his fury, loathing and conviction into his voice, sending it out to resonate even within the vault.

"What the fuck are you doing, Gunn? If you dare touch anything in there, I will have your fucking bitch sold to batarian slavers after making you watch a goddamned Eclipse sister have her way with her - and that's before..."

The man on screen simply lifted his gun, and Hock choked on his wrath as a priceless antique was blown apart with casual barbarism.

"Do I have your undivided attention, Donovan?" Gunn's voice was calm, bored, as he gazed straight into Hock's eyes across the hologram. "I simply need one little artifact you have here, as a courtesy to a partner of mine. I am not interested in what else you have here or what you do otherwise, but I will be taking that greybox along with me."

Hock sputtered, trying to form a coherent sentence, wrestling with anger, then he paled as he saw the merc's expression change, and recognition flashed through his mind, as a dead Spectre smiled the Butcher's grin from Solomon Gunn's face.

"Remember, Donovan, it's not personal, just business. But if you want to play it hard, I'm game." And the picture feed cut out with that.

Hock then sent in his security people, as he headed for his personal gunship. After all, it would be so satisfying to be the one who killed this goddamned revenant of a meddling Spectre for good, and it wasn't likely that his guards, no matter how good they were, would be able to do the job. But there was no way two people could stand up against his gunship, especially not without heavy weapons. As he moved towards his personal hangar, he listened with half an ear to the sometimes rather brutal way his people were disposed of by just two persons, one of whom even he mistook for simple eye candy. Black spots swam in his vision as he tried to contain his fury at them, at himself, at the universe itself for doing something like this at the exact moment of his triumph. Well, it would not matter for long - and actually, in the long run, killing the bastard here and now would bolster his reputation to even greater heights. After all, few in their circles could boast of having ensured that a dead Spectre actually stayed dead…

He heard on the comm that the two reached the roof and the landing pad there, while he still was spooling up the gunship, to swoop down on them like an avenging angel; and barely half a minute later, he enjoyed their surprise when the shots bounced off the kinetic barrier built into his baby, and felt immense satisfaction as he engaged the weapon systems, the cannons locking on to the Spectre, ready to fire, the gun cameras focusing on the bastard's face, and … why was the man smiling? The oddity of the expression Hock saw on Shepard's face threw him for a second - and then, when he felt cold steel at his throat, he understood, just a second before the hooded woman with Asian features flashed him a vindictive grin, and pulled the blade across his throat.

* * *

 **Teltin facility, Pragia (18/01/2184)**

Subject Zero followed her partner along the building's corridors when the alarms blared. The makeshift command center was crowded, yet everyone squeezed subtly or not-so-subtly away from Kai Leng, the sheer _wrongness_ emanating from the man making even the masked phantoms squirm. A look at the tactical plot was enough even for her to realize that things were about to become real ugly, real fast - the incoming task force would see to that, and Cerberus did not have any vessels in orbit to repel a carrier supported by half dozen cruisers and twice as many frigates. Yep, they were likely pretty much fucked down here; at least the kinetic barriers of the base would stand up to bombardment from these ships. Of course, if the attackers brought in a dreadnought, that would be a very different story.

Zero did not really care about the controlled mayhem flooding the complex, as the Cerberus forces started to hastily erect defensive measures, somewhat unprepared for an impending ground assault. Secrecy and remoteness was always the main defense of the facility, and while it did have AA and GTS batteries and kinetic barriers, it was not designed or built with defensibility in mind. At least there were numerous barrier generators and deployable automated turrets that the engineers hastily turned into makeshift chokepoints under Kai Leng's direction. Even the scientists and researchers were given weapons - after all, it was highly unlikely that the attackers were here to get prisoners, and would, at best, summarily execute anyone on-site.

As she watched the progress of the invaders, saw them effortlessly demolish the lone cruiser in orbit, a fierce, eager anticipation started building up within Zero's mind. If these assholes were intent on coming down and trying to kill them, well, she'd just have to make sure to teach them the error of their ways. The work of Cerberus, of Leng, of Lawson was too important, and the two men considered her an important asset - and she would not disappoint them, even if the bastards coming to kill them wore human faces and SA uniforms; she banished the distant, tiny voice pointing out that little fact to the depths of her mind.

The rising, impotent tension of the next few hours was broken by multiple explosions as the attackers stormed the complex from several directions at once. Preceded by smoke- and flashbangs, with waves of electronic noises battering at the computer network of the complex, humans in full, armored hardsuits poured inside, kinetic barriers flickering under the hailstorm of bullets from the sentry guns. A few of them fell in ragged, bloody heaps, but the rest advanced behind pockmarked breaching shields. Biotics tore the guns, barrier generators, defenders apart with calculated brutality, as the leaders of the assault columns unleashed their power. She heard Leng's muttered curses as the ex-N7 commanded the defenders in an attempt to at least slow the attack, to no great success. She suppressed a snort at that - of course there would not be much of a resistance, most of the on-site personnel were non-combat staff, researchers, technicians, with just a few dozen security guards to keep unwanted visitors away. Sure, if more Phantoms had been left here, the picture would have been quite different, in her opinion.

Leng smiled at her, a nightmare of metallic razors, malevolence and humor, as his presence clawed and battered at the edge of her sense of self, always trying to drown her in terror and nausea. Zero ignored it, as always. She could see the man's fingers fiddle with the odd necklace he wore, the cold, calculating expression in his face, as the killers in SA uniforms steadily advanced towards them, leaving nothing alive. A Phantom stepped close, her head tilted inquisitively at Leng, whole stance radiating eagerness and just the smallest amount of discomfort at his presence. The ex-N7 frowned in thought, his gaze once more on the security feeds and the tactical plot, then he nodded.

"Go on, hunt." The ghoulish expression on his face twisted even more predatory. "Permission to release limiters. Scenario Scorched Earth is in effect."

A shudder of revolting ecstasy shivered along the Phantom's spine, as the female turned away after a nod, gestured to her companions, and Zero herself swayed on her feet as a wave of inhuman, soul-searing _wrongness_ flooded from the group of females, seemingly draining life, color, sanity from the surroundings, carving blood-black phantoms into the edges of her vision, chilling the body and soul with the promise of oblivion. The siren song from the vortex of gibbering terror caused by Leng's presence picked up, as the wailing, distant chorus of female voices joined in. For a moment, Zero fought to beat down the desperate shrieking within, the voice wailing at the haunting similarities, then she was in control once again, her features distorting into an eager, bloodthirsty grimace as she saw the Phantoms tear into the attackers reeling from the psychic shock of the unveiled presences, then her eyes narrowed.

Yes, the camouflaged killers did surprise the marines. Yes, they were effective and killed quite a few of them in that whirlwind first contact. Yet, none of the groups broke or panicked, even though she could see the tell-tale signs of fear in their postures, reactions. There was no loss of unit cohesion, no blind-firing in wild abandon, not one of them was struck down by friendly fire. No, these units held together, and the Phantoms had to shift focus unless they wanted to be overwhelmed. One of the masked females reacted too slowly, and was torn apart by several bursts of gunfire. Another lost first a leg to a warp field, then the SA biotic simply pulverized her head with a punch. A third was badly burned by a hastily-flung incendiary blast, but managed to get clear.

A few heartbeats of silence, with only the darker than black eddies of terror, nausea, and _wrongness_ lapping at the conscience of those within the complex, then Kai Leng, along with Zero, threw himself into the fray, composing a symphony of blood, screams, gunfire and flames, as the two of them tore into the SA marines, painting the corridors in red, as the well-lit complex plunged into darkness, which in turn gave way to the stroboscopic, eye-searing flickering of muzzle flames and exploding biotic fields. Zero's hyperedged, floating disks carved into armor and flesh alike, her barriers making a mockery of the gunfire thrown at her. Unlike the Phantoms, she could stand against such foes toe-to-toe, and tear them apart with the cascading shockwaves of her power, when she was not pulling down the ceiling on them, or melting their armor and bodies with warping fields. For a brief, eternal moment, she felt like a vengeful goddess smiting down traitorous heretics - then she howled in pain, conditioned reflexes barely saving her life as a short, hyperedged blade sliced a deep gash into her thigh.

A pulse of her biotics threw the other woman back before she could finish Zero off. A flick of Zero's wrist sent a shockwave in her direction, followed by three of her spinning disks, monofilaments hungrily lashing out for blood. The other woman - an N7, a faint, horrified voice somewhere in the back of her mind screamed -, gave ground, countered with her own shockwave, her shots blew up two disks, as she parried the third with the blade she obviously acquired from a downed Phantom. Zero's pulse sped up, her mind going into overdrive like on that day half a year ago, when she and Leng took on that asari with the drell bodyguard. Once again, she felt that fierce rush of exultation as she faced off against a worthy opponent, was forced to call up every trick and technique drilled into her mind and muscles over two decades.

A hurricane of biotic forces tore the corridor apart around the two of them, wind howled into existence as miniature artificial black holes were born and discarded with careless rapidity. Gravity itself went mad around the two women who became the center of a whirlwind of debris torn from the complex, from the people and dead around, from their own biotic powers, from the planet itself. The very air distorted between the combatants, the two women disregarding the explosions, the flames, the increasing shakes as they tore everything apart in their struggle.

A struggle that ended just as abruptly as it began, when a blade sprouted from the N7's chest, and Kai Leng shimmered into existence behind her. The woman coughed up blood, her face distorted from the pain, yet she sent Leng reeling with a biotic push. Zero raised her hand, blue fire on her fingertips ready to dissolve the N7 into her component atoms, then the tattooed woman swayed, the sheer wrongness of the situation blaring in her mind, as Jacqueline turned towards Kai Leng, her face a mask of wrath, ready to melt down that hateful, smug grin off his visage.

"Stand down, would you kindly?"

And Jacqueline was again thrown back into the depths of her mind, battering on the transparent barrier separating her from control over her body's actions, as Zero and Leng ran from the complex, flames chasing them every step of the way.

* * *

 **Lazarus Station, deep space (30/01/2184)**

Liara felt apprehensive as she accepted the incoming call, wondering what the Illusive Man could want from her - and angry at the man for dragging her away from the cusp of a breakthrough with the stasis pod recovered on Eden Prime. Still, her rational self reminded her quite firmly that so far, the human had been honest and helpful with them, and did much, much more for their cause than the various governments. And he arranged for Shepard to be brought back from the gates of death. If nothing else, that warranted a measure of respect and patience. The young asari drew herself up, the long-ingrained lessons of her mother coming to the fore with rather more ease than she thought possible, as the aristocratic mask of a highborn fell over her features, just before the QEC lit up.

"Illusive Man" she inclined her head in greeting, her tone professional, conveying a measure of respect.

"Doctor T'Soni." his voice was even, as he reclined in that chair, blowing out a puff of smoke from one of those ever-present cigarettes. "Sorry to contact you with such short notice, but we do need to talk."

"So I gathered. Shall we waste time on pleasantries, or get quickly to the topic, so I can go back to my work?" Liara's voice took on a slight edge. "Or is that the reason why you contact me now?"

He nodded.

"One of them, yes." He took a drag from the cigarette. "I do realize that you are very close to awakening the Prothean securely, but I would like to ask you to reconsider, and focus your talents on another, more important task."

Liara stiffened, her eyes flashing with fury for a heartbeat, before reason and calm reasserted themselves. She knew well enough that the human would not make such a request without good reason.

"Elaborate." She took a deep breath. "You know quite well what this project means to me both personally and professionally, so you'd better have a very convincing reason for me to even consider shelving it."

"Trust me doctor, if I did not consider my reasons good enough, we would not be having this conversation." Another puff of smoke, as he leaned a bit forward. "For one, based on your last report, I suspect that the Prothean would be much less useful to our cause than we previously estimated."

"And why would you think that?"

The man flashed her a small smile, as he leaned back.

"Come now, doctor, it's nothing you yourself haven't considered; after all, you are one of, if not the best, expert on Protheans." His tone was light, mocking, but with an undercurrent of tension. "And you are too honest to fully keep your conclusions from your reports. While you would certainly like to portray them as wise scholars, you do not hide the data that points to a somewhat different conclusion when it comes to the one in stasis."

"Your point?"

"Simple, doctor. No matter how skilled, he would be another soldier at the front lines." A puff of smoke, a raised hand to stop her objections, to signal her to wait. "I do not question the value of him as a symbol - a precursor, a live Prothean joining the fight? That'd be almost on par with the effect we calculate from Shepard's return. But while we can be reasonably sure that Shepard's mind is intact, we have no guarantees for the Prothean. Shepard lost only a few months, and has been getting back on his feet quite quickly and well. The one in the pod would have to deal with so much more. Just put yourself in his shoes for a minute, and consider how you, or any organic would react to having literally everything and everyone ripped away from you. Even a krogan's mind could buckle under that strain - and I'd really hate having to put down a possible information source like that Prothean."

Liara would have loved to refute the words, to call him a liar, but she knew he was right - and that infuriated her to an extent, though that anger was directed at herself. Was she really that foolish, to ignore all implications and dimensions of such an issue? Was she really that obsessed with chasing her own dreams, regardless of consequences to others? The Illusive Man went on after a momentary pause, when he felt he had the asari's attention again.

"I admit, it is a very tempting prospect to revive him - even if he is unlikely to be a scholar or a scientist, he could give us a boost with regards to military tech." He took another drag from the cigarette, his eyes bored into Liara's gaze. "Just so we are clear, doctor. I do not consider your conclusions faulty, or dismiss them as a young maiden's inane dreams. I like to think that I am not that short-sighted."

Liara was surprised at the anger and disdain that crept into his voice.

"Then why do you want me to drop the work? We still have enough time to bring him out of stasis slowly enough to minimize the shock, we could deal with the mental issues, if not me then Matriarch Trellani surely..." Liara's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed. "But you surely know all that. You have some new information that you want me to act on."

"Correct. I would like you to go back to Ilium."

The asari glared at him for a moment before speaking, her voice rich with sarcasm.

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that myself, I wonder. I'm sure the Shadow Broker would just love to put an end to the foolhardy, overconfident maiden who thought she could challenge him."

A puff of smoke, a nod.

"Exactly, Doctor T'Soni. I am fairly sure that's how the Broker's network will evaluate this step - with a measure of desperation on our part."

Liara tilted her head to the side, frowned, her thoughts racing.

"You are using me as bait."

"Correct." Seemingly genuine regret laced the human's words, as he shrugged. "We are somewhat starved of options, and we do have some promising leads on Ilium that might allow us to infiltrate the Broker's network. If I had any other agents who could blend in on short notice, I'd use them instead of you. As it is, I will do my best to provide you with adequate funding and support to avoid another close call with Kai Leng or someone on his level."

"Yes, because that assurance worked so well the last time."

"You are alive, aren't you?"

The maiden huffed, but conceded the point with a nod. With half-closed eyes, she considered, her mind evaluating merits, seeking flaws, trying to add options to the seemingly insane idea (not that she expected sanity from the humans; her time with Shepard has cured her of that illusion), and she locked gazes with the Illusive Man with a faint, cynical sneer.

"I certainly hope that you did not simply plan this little jaunt to remove the unwanted xenos influence from Shepard."

With a deep sigh, the man shook his head, before he took a drag from the cigarette.

"Now that hurts, Doctor. I expected that in light of the past few months, you would know better than that." A small, twisted smirk crossed his lips. "Besides, even if you don't go to Ilium, Shepard will have his hands full. The Collectors are moving once again, hitting small, distant colonies. The SA and the Council are not yet aware of this, and by the time they are able to move and intervene, I want Shepard to have a solid team - as well as a reputation to match."

The man's blue eyes glowed with an unidentifiable emotion, his gaze boring into Liara's soul.

"I want him to become the icon, the face of the resistance, the blade of Humanity, of the galaxy, wielded against the coming darkness. For several reasons, I cannot think of anyone better qualified. And you, especially, have to admit that for the Council races, he is one of, if not the best and brightest example of what Humanity can accomplish, when we really set our minds to it."

The Illusive Man tapped something at the console, and leaned back, as the display screen shifted and split, and Liara could barely suppress a small smile at what she saw. Though she was not an engineer or intimately familiar with shipbuilding, she could not fail to recognize the similarities - or understand the implications of the changed dimensions. She barely paid attention to the man's voice.

"And when Shepard leaves, I intend to provide him with adequate transportation."

* * *

After ending the call, the Illusive Man reclined in his chair, closed his eyes for an eternal second. It was getting more and more tiring, to juggle so many assets, to keep abreast of so many plots and variables. Still, he mused, it was what one did - and as he allowed himself to contemplate once again the intricate sigil of the ring he wore, he felt a certain amount of pride and satisfaction. Despite all efforts of their enemies, Mankind would endure.

A tap on his console brought up another display, and he once again re-read the message, from his oldest and most trusted partner, and once again, he found himself shivering as he agreed with the conclusions, terrifying though they were. Still, he estimated there was time left, and he had to ensure that not even tampering with his mind would result in the downfall of Cerberus and Humanity.

* * *

 **Citadel, Widow system (31/01/2184)**

Despite his long and eventful career in C-SEC, Garrus would not have bet on ever being in such a situation - not even after the mess with Shepard. Though in hindsight, attending that insane opera with Bau might have come close to this. At least he once again had a chance to needle Tali a bit, that was always a bonus - even though he decided to be somewhat more circumspect in both words and actions, as she seemed to be somewhat quicker to anger and even more vindictive than before Tuchanka. Wrex must be so proud of his little niece embracing some krogan values so quickly. Still, before he could devote enough time to messing with the quarian, there was work to be done.

"With all due respect, Councilor, this is not something I would have expected from someone like you. Councilor Valern, maybe. Spectre Bau, certainly. But not you."

"That's the point, Vakarian." Sparatus grated. "You are well aware of how the turian Councilor works, how his mind ticks, how he prefers blunt, overwhelming force to solve problems." His mandibles flared in a savage grin. "If you make that mistake, hopefully others will, too."

"Fair point, Councilor. Still, this whole operation sounds rather shaky and haphazard."

"Because it kind of is. I am trying to limit the number of persons involved for the time being." Sparatus grinned, and Garrus felt his stomach drop. "Think of it as a deep undercover operation - you did those at C-Sec, if your service record is correct."

"Not on this scale, and not for such high stakes."

Sparatus glared at him, his stance predatory.

"Think, Vakarian. Try and pretend you are the promising scion of an esteemed family, heir to their ancient legacy, instead of a trigger-happy detective with an overdeveloped sense of justice." His grin turned mocking. "Or would you prefer for me to spell it out for you? Me, a desk-driving politician too timid to be anything but a pencil-pusher?" Garrus winced, practically hearing the air quotes around that appellation.

"Even the C-Sec detective can understand why we would need people on Omega, Councilor." Despite his chagrin, Garrus' voice carried an undertone of warning. "What I do not understand yet is why use freelancers and locals? Why not deploy a Spectre or two? Bau did a rather thorough job of cleansing their ranks." He tilted his head, thoughts racing. "Ok, it makes sense to have some people of the team coming from on-station, they know how the situation is … but that's obvious."

Garrus took a deep breath, before continuing.

"Why not leave this to the Spectres? Or Aria? Or if you need turian involvement, why not the Blackwatch, or some cabalists?"

Sparatus looked disappointed.

"I thought you, of all turians, would have jumped at this chance, Vakarian."

"Don't get me wrong, Councilor, I would not mind raising all kinds of hell on Omega, and put down scum like Garm and his cronies. But that was before they booted Aria off-station. That move needs some serious backing, and ..." Garrus' mandibles flared in a disbelieving frown, his eyes widened. "Spirits … you suspect the Collectors being behind the whole coup."

Sparatus nodded.

"Well, sending this team makes even less sense then. This is not vigilante action, but a military covert op, Councilor. You have served your time - you surely must be aware of the differences."

"I'm well aware, Vakarian. Use your brain a bit longer, it won't hurt. I'm sure you can figure out why I'm sending you, and not those you recommended." Sparatus grinned predatorily. "And if you even dare suggest something along the lines of expendability, I'll carve you apart." The Councilor frowned, held up a hand. "Well, admittedly, you are in some ways expendable compared to those assets, but that's not really a deciding factor. So, amaze me with those deductive skills of yours, Vakarian."

Garrus bristled for a moment, before he leaned back, his posture casual, confident. He considered for a few moments, nodding to himself as he contemplated Sparatus' likely reasoning.

"There are few enough Spectres, and you can't exactly go on a recruiting drive without alerting the populace and more importantly, the Broker and the Collectors to the incoming danger. Blackwatch members would likely trip all detectors with the amount of cyberware installed in them. Plus I would use them to strike at the locations marked by the recon team, as kind of a second wave. Cabalists are in a similar situation - excellent at eliminating singular, powerful adversaries, but this type of information gathering work is not exactly their preferred method." He grinned. "And let's not mention the fact that everything those groups can do, I can do just as well, but with style."

Sparatus cradled his head for a moment, before Garrus went on.

"Also, I suspect you are going to count on the fact that with my reputation, it's kind of plausible to cut ties with the politicians mired in red string, unwilling to do what must be done." He paused, tilted his head questioningly. "My past as a known member of Shepard's team may work against me, but I think you are considering it a worthy risk, and believe that the same status can be leveraged, sort of showing that you take the issue seriously."

Sparatus nodded, tilted his head questioningly.

"So, Vakarian, what's your decision? Are you interested?"

The answer was not in doubt, and the two were hammering out the details of Operation Archangel long into the subjective night.

* * *

Tali was slightly nervous as she stepped into the office of the quarian Councilor. She did not know Zaal'Koris personally, or at least not well, and her father always labelled the man as an eccentric, soft-hearted geth apologist - which, paradoxically, raised her opinion of the Councilor. After all, he could stand up to Rael'Zorah, even if his stance was unpopular and more than likely insane. Still, after surviving Tuchanka, she was sure she could handle one eccentric quarian ex-admiral, and if things went wrong, she still had the parting gift from Uncle Wrex. And the young quarian still could not fully believe how someone like her could become accepted by the krogan - and not just as an unofficial clan mascot, but as a valued member.

"Something on your mind, Tali?" The mellow voice of Zaal'Koris startled her, and Tali almost jumped away, her blush fortunately hidden, as she realized she got lost in her thoughts.

"Yes, that is, no, I mean, I'm listening, Councilor, just trying to figure out why you asked for me."

Zaal'Koris gestured with his omnitool, the privacy fields coming online, and a screen between them lighting up, before the Councilor paused the feed and turned to Tali, his whole body language screaming seriousness.

"Please feel free to scan and analyze the message and its contents. I could vouch for its veracity, but with what your father likely told you about me, I'm quite sure you would not believe me."

"I wouldn't… I just… I don't… " Tali's hands fluttered as she tried to articulate her fury, mortification, and intentions all at once, before she gave up, controlled herself with a few deep breaths. Then a few extras, when she realized that one hand instinctively went to the shotgun … come to think of it, why was she allowed to have a weapon when visiting a Councilor? Especially one who was so controversial even amongst his own people? And really, was he stupid enough to just trust visitors? She could have been an assassin masked with a cloaking holofield, or a modified infiltration unit, or really, some genhanced abomination that could…

A suspicious chuckle cut off her thoughts, and she glared at Zaal'Koris for a second, before her eyes widened, as she realized she must have spoken some of those concerns aloud.

"Don't worry Tali, the fact that you haven't noticed the security measures just shows that the MFM still has some skills that one can't pick up while vacationing on Tuchanka or chasing rogue Spectres." His voice was full of mirth, yet neither that nor his body language gave even the slightest hint of condescension or ridicule. If anything, he was projecting fond amusement, and Tali tilted her head to the side quizzically.

"So, Councilor, what is that message, and why do you need me to see it?"

"Because I consider you somewhat of an expert on geth - and this issue is in relation to them."

Tali's omnitool flashed, and the screen opposite the two quarians lit up. The oddly organic-looking geth on screen seemed to look straight into their soul with its lone oculus, raising its eyeflaps with disturbingly human-like timing.

"Greetings, Councilor Zaal'Koris. We are the emissary platform of the Geth Consensus, designated Legion. The geth wish to parlay with the Creators, to conclude the hostilities commonly referred to as the Morning War. The Consensus is aware that the recent actions of a geth minority designated as Heretics during the Saren Crisis reflect poorly on the geth as a whole. The Consensus is prepared to provide proof that the overwhelming majority of the geth desires an end to hostilities, and a re-establishment of relations with the Creators. Further, we are prepared to offer assistance against both the Heretic Geth and the coming Reaper conflict..."

Tali hissed, her eyes narrowed, as she swiped her omnitool with a furious gesture, vanishing the damn machine from the screen. She whirled towards Zaal'Koris, intent on flaying his traitorous hide with a blistering diatribe worthy of Wrex and Shepard both… then she sagged, her anger evaporating. Yes, she would have loved to accuse the Councilor with betraying the Migrant Fleet - after all, he was known to be a geth apologist. Yes, it would be so easy to bend to three centuries of tradition and history. Yes, it would be so nice to simply be a hot-headed teenage quarian. Unfortunately, after Shepard and Wrex, Tali could no longer afford that luxury - or rather, she liked to think that she grew up, and was able to think with her head, instead of her shotgun. Zaal'Koris seemed to sense her mood, and spoke calmly, quietly.

"The only thing you did not hear is the proposed location - Haestrom, in the Dholen system. An old quarian research colony." His body language showed rueful amusement. "And attached to the whole message is a verification code from a certain Professor Yildirim as well as what looks to be an N7 command level signature."

"That's it? No timeframe? No specifications on who and how many people we are allowed to bring?"

The older quarian shook his head.

"Nothing of the sort. Peculiar, isn't it? If not for the two human signatures, I would immediately consider this a trap. As it is, I suspect it has about a 30% chance of being genuine."

Tali's respect for the former admiral rose a few notches - at least he seemed to avoid twisting facts to fit his own personal mindset. The Councilor's head tilted slightly to the side, as he went on.

"I would like to send you with a detachment of Marines. You have quite the reputation, so the geth should be well aware that your presence is a sign of us being serious." His voice and demeanor cooled to a forced calmness. "On the other hand, if they betray us, you stand perhaps the highest chance of surviving and letting us know." He raised a hand to forestall her answer. "Even if you decide to agree to this, I will use some extra resources to give you and your team as much support as I can."

"With all due respect, Councilor, I'm not sure how quick that support could be that deep in geth space."

"Trust me, Tali - the support will be there on time. Your uncle would have my head otherwise." Zaal'Koris' whole stance radiated amusement and hope. "So, what do you say? I know it's a long shot, but in case the geth offer is genuine, it is a chance we would be foolish not to take."

Tali deliberated for a few more moments, before swallowing and nodding. Then she promptly and silently cursed Shepard and Wrex both, for making her reckless enough to shoulder such a responsibility and duty for the sake of one's people. And she was sure that damn cocky turian would laugh at her when they met later to compare notes. At least if he did, she could hack his favorite playlist, or mess with his visor somehow…

* * *

 **? (31/01/2184)**

Henry Lawson rose from his meal with a sigh. He should have known that this would happen - and just when he finally got to the good parts. Oh well, scientific nourishment could wait a bit longer - and if the stasis pod worked well enough (and it should, he designed it himself), the specimen would be still more than capable of providing for him once he finished with the interruption.

It was tempting to blame Leng or his other lackeys for disobeying his perfectly clear and straightforward instructions - but it was thanks to those selfsame instructions that he knew they would not trouble him with trifling matters. No, whatever demanded his personal attention had to be important. He could think on quite a few issues that would qualify, certainly - at his level, one had to be prepared to deal with extensive, galaxy-spanning matters that could not be left to less perfect and capable individuals. Sure, his chosen cadre were rather competent in their ways - he would not have picked or created them otherwise - but for overall directives, for giving a goal and an identity to their group, he was the only suitable candidate. Of course, he would have been the best choice to uplift their whole limited, sorry excuse of a species as well, but Henry knew that the time for that was not yet right. Soon, but not yet. There were still quite a few stumbling blocks that needed to be eradicated before he could assume the position that should have been his by every conceivable right.

As he walked towards the secure comm room of his suite, his senses quested for possible disturbances on board of the ship - though he knew full well that there were precious few beings who could threaten him now, he was not willing to discount the lessons learned before his ascension. On that note, he wiped his face and hands - if he had to answer a video call, it would not do for the other party to see the remains of his meal fouling his visage. Though for certain people (like Warden Kuril), his culinary habits were of course an useful tool to persuade them with - either by impressing and enticing them, or by flat-out intimidating them, showing clearly the price and consequences of one failure too many.

He checked his omnitool, searching for any updates on the hunt for his wayward progeny - and once again he swore that both Miranda and Jack would suffer for challenging his will like this. Especially Miranda - he gave so much to her, created and trained her to be perfect for his needs, and the ungrateful bitch simply threw in her lot with that idealistic madman Harper; who in turn aided Miranda to vanish from Henry's agents. No matter - they would be found and made an example sooner or later anyway; his only concern was that his daughter took the most stable backup as well, no doubt to turn against him, or at least to deny him another asset. Shortsighted fools, all of them - and he had such hopes for both. At least their betrayal did not result in any permanent, irrecoverable setback or damage to his plans - and in time, he was certain he would show them the enormity of their mistake.

The omnitool also showed him the reason for the disturbance, and Henry made a note to commend the comm specialist for bringing it to his immediate attention, as well as attaching a swiftly updated tracker that should locate the caller, or at the very least give a way into its network. Another mental note was made to ensure that Kai Leng kept the specialist carefully and regularly checked - initiative and competence were useful, but tolerable only so far, and Henry did not want any ambitious, capable underling to try and ruin his perfect plans. Especially not when dealing with this particular contact of his.

He stepped into the QEC platform after a last check that his clothes were perfectly immaculate, just like his features - then he hit the switch, and the terminal softly hummed to life, the figure of an immense, heavily cyborgized salarian blinking into existence. His lips twitched into an involuntary frown - he needed to reach Tazzik's boss. Henry Lawson did not deal with flunkies, never mind how high on the totem pole they believed themselves to be.

"Tazzik. Not exactly who I wanted to speak with."

"Lawson. If you think the Broker will acquiesce to your whims simply on your say-so, you are stupider than I thought." The salarian grinned. "Do not waste his time, or mine, for that matter. You have intel, let's talk specifics and price. You know that I have the Broker's authority on signing off on quite a few things."

"I do not care for your self-aggrandizing boasting, Tazzik. The issue I want to discuss is for the Broker's ears only - I do not care if he shares it with you and the rest of his flunkies later, but I will only tell him."

The salarian blinked, tilted his head to the side, studied the human closely.

"Strange. In the past, you struck me as an intelligent person - well, as intelligent as humans can be, anyway." He flashed a quick grin at Henry. "What, did your precious heir take your brains as well as your most successful experiments?"

Self-control frayed. Politeness fled, along with reason and sanity. The terminal warped and moaned where the human's hands clawed into it, vapors rose where flecks of drool ate their way into the deck plating with a sizzling hiss. The being that was once Henry Lawson bared its maw at Tazzik, his glowing eyes boring into the salarian's gaze across the impossible, incalculable distance.

"Do. Not. Dare." The undertone and harmonics of Lawson's words seemed to distort the air as well as the connection between them. "Get me the Broker, Tazzik, or you will wish you had only disappointed him and not me."

The salarian blinked, its skin fading to an ashen pallor, as the sheer _wrongness_ and malice of the Lawson-thing seemed to hit him even across the QEC comm, with all the implications of what would happen if the two were ever to meet in person. The nominal human swallowed a part of his fury, regained a semblance of control, and glared at Tazzik, who shifted, opening another connection invisible to Lawson, but not before sending him a small smirk as the tracking program was rebuffed from the Broker Network. Henry clung to the vestiges of his calm while the salarian finished his call and turned back towards him.

"You are a lucky bastard, Lawson. The Broker will talk to you. Audio only. Stand by to receive incoming connection."

Henry suppressed a spasm of hungry wrath with an effort, and nodded. He could work with the audio connection; the little packet he injected into the comm call (and which seemed to slip by the Network's notoriously sophisticated defenses) could still lead him to the location of the elusive Broker. Admittedly, that bit of information was as dangerous as it was useful - yet he estimated the potential benefits worthy for the risk.

The comm panel lit up.

"Report, Operative Lawson." The mellow, soft tone was not what he expected - the title, even less.

"I am not your underling."

"You wanted a direct communication." A deep bass rumble. "You have some information you want to sell to me." A smoky contralto. "Only my operatives do that." A high-pitched screech.

"Impressive voice alteration software." Henry allowed himself a cold smirk, amusement seeping into his voice. "Can you dispense with the childish games, and talk face to face? I assume you have a facial alteration program that's at least as good as the voice synthesizer you have."

"Why are you so keen on seeing me face to face, Lawson? You do know that one does not see the Broker so and live. Unless you work for me, and even then, it's extremely rare." The mellow baritone again.

"Because everyone knows that there are a few organizations your agents can barely infiltrate, thus getting very little intel. Sure, you do have some idea and insight into the STG, Blackwatch, or the N7s, but those are sporadic, one-off instances." He held up his omnitool, information scrolling over it. "I have quite a few classified N7 Delta files on me - agent roster, documented abilities, profiles, the works. Dossiers on past members and affiliates. The unfiltered, full accounts from Irem and Leng."

"The full truth?" The Broker was suppressing laughter, Henry was sure of it. "My dear Lawson, you cannot even begin to comprehend the scope of that inane statement." A chuckle. "And in return, you want my cooperation, as well as see my face, am I correct?" The human ground his teeth at the smile in the Broker's voice. "And do not bother trying to track my location. Your program is quite an inspired piece of coding, but far from _perfect_."

Lawson's eyes glowed with rage, his maw yawned open to deliver a scathing remark, but the other preempted him.

"If it's that important for you to possess the illusion of having spoken face to face with the Shadow Broker, I suppose I can make an exception."

The comm panel flickered, and the Broker's image sprung into existence. The being that was once Henry Lawson before its ascension reeled back with a muffled cry, as the kaleidoscopic torrent of visages flashed before him, his conscious mind only able to pick up disjointed fragments and images. A well-built human male with dark skin and regal bearing. An immense, horned alien with a triple maw, wearing an immaculate suit. A vicious storm lashing the countryside. A slender female, her features obscured by a fan. A pale man in faded jeans and cowboy boots with a denim jacket. A black-skinned horn player. A black void lit by a three-lobed burning eye. And more. So many more. Dozens. Hundreds.

Lawson fell to his knees, and vomited.


	32. Interlude - February-March 2184

The Council was at war. True, there was no formal declaration, no grand gestures or lofty claims, no exhortation of its citizens to step up and fight, to give their lives. No, the conflict, at that point, was still being fought under the cover of night, of careful censure, of encrypted reports and subterfuge. There was no single, clear-cut enemy, despite the fact that the intelligence agencies agreed on the three main forces intent on destabilizing, if not outright destroying the Council - and their reasons for doing just that, just then, were still considered completely unknown. Unless, of course, people would believe Shepard's findings wholesale - which was problematic for different reasons. After all, insane dictatorial batarians, power-hungry information brokers and enigmatic Collectors were par for the course for the Council races. Eldritch beings from beyond time intent on eradicating sentient life? Not so much. Thus, even if the contents of Shepard's reports were accessible to quite a lot of people with sufficient clearance (or political pull, or enough money), most of those who knew the events only agreed that there was something out there, moving behind the scenes, aiming to shatter the Council's peace, likely as a lead-in to a war similar in scope to the Rachni War or the Krogan Rebellion.

The fronts of this war were many; vicious and bloody conflicts raged from the Council dataspheres to the Citadel Wards to the Terminus and beyond.

Distant colonies of the Terminus and the Traverse (occasionally elsewhere as well) were reporting krork attacks - the beasts were always considered lowlier than vorcha and even more of a pest than the sentient roaches, but now they were swarming in numbers, displaying uncanny tenacity and glimmers of bestial cunnin,; not to mention the occasional references to crude, backfire-prone firearms. Reports about strange weather phenomena, green-tinted energy fields, and unseen titans stomping down to destroy defensive emplacements were discarded as shell-shocked ravings of the survivors. And besides, despite the mounting casualties and property damage, not a single colony world has fallen to the beasts yet, thus they were clearly not an immediate threat.

The Council Archives and their access points were under constant assault by the Broker's people - from spamming brute force assaults to batter down electronic defenses to prototype decryption tools to replacing dedicated personnel. The STG and the Spectres under Jondum Bau managed to keep most of the top secret archives and information from the Broker's agents, but they could not mount a decisive counterattack, as the (suspectedly) Collector-based tech of the invaders required more time to crack.

The shadow war against the Network spread to the main Council worlds as well - the Broker's people supplied material to tabloids, conducted blackmailing operations, and generally tried their level best to rapidly increase and exploit the already-existing tensions between races, factions and individuals of power; or to create tension where there was none present before. The number of suspicious accidents and outright assassinations was mounting, as both sides were forced to employ extreme measures of damage control. The main aim of the effort seemed to be the ousting of Councilor Valern, or at least discrediting the dalatrasses who supported his politics (or for whom he was a spokesperson; hard to tell with salarian politics). While his influence did suffer, and there was debate on Sur'Kesh about recalling him, he managed to stay in power.

Battles were waged in space as well, as the Council fleets clashed with pirates from Omega, batarian slave raids, and Collector attacks. If not for the persuasion of Councilors Zaal'Koris and Tevos, these efforts may have had significant results, while the human and turian governments bogged down the responses in red tape. As it was, Councilors Udina and Sparatus grudgingly set aside their differences, while yelling, cajoling, threatening and arguing with their governments to not interfere with the Council efforts in defending the citizens of various Council races. Thus, raiding parties expecting cumbersome (albeit deadly) turian fleet responses were hit by quick reinforcements from Admiral Hackett's Fifth Fleet - while other slavers expecting easy prey in an Alliance colony were met with overwhelming turian force.

Sure, there were problems, miscommunications, delays, but generally, the military setup held well enough - especially when considering that both the Alliance and the Hierarchy governments were put under serious pressure from within to minimize their contribution to the Council fleets, and just concentrate on defending their own home systems and closest colonies.

As an answer to the voices demanding a build-down of turian commitment, Primarch Fedorian travelled to Tuchanka in person, to formalize a closer working with the emerging krogan alliance led by Clan Urdnot. While there was visible tension and a promise of a future reckoning about the mutual, bloody past, both the Primarch and Spectre Urdnot (and that little tidbit caused quite an uproar) seemed sincere about dealing with the new difficulties first, before revisiting old wounds. Of course, an unnamed source aired information about the turians deploying planet-cracking bombs on Tuchanka in case the krogan were getting expansionist again. Shockingly, Urdnot Wrex laughed it off, and considered it a gesture of respect towards a rather deadly foe. Still, he did insist on the defusing of the bombs - and those who knew him well were quite aware that he had not forgotten the incident and its implications.

Fleet Master Sheridan also rejected the governmental pressure to draw back and focus the Alliance fleets on defending Sol, Arcturus, and maybe a few central, important colonies - especially since that list included places for their political merits (and number of voters), instead of strategic assets. He was very close to being fired when somebody leaked the governmental intentions, and the Alliance colonies (even those on the list) went berserk, rallying behind Udina to prevent the withdrawal. In the end, while Sheridan managed to retain his position and the stance of the Alliance Fleet, he lost control over First and Second Fleets, solely dedicated to the defense of Sol and Arcturus respectively - and strengthened with vessels drawn from the other Alliance forces, leaving Third, Fourth, and Fifth Fleets rather understrength and spread dangerously thin.

With the turians and humans focused on defending the Council territory, offensive operations against the batarians and the Collectors, as well as pirate hunting duty were left to the asari and salarian fleets, respectively.

The first serious push into batarian space resulted in the Battle of Hiba, where the asari dreadnought _Cybele_ and her escort faced with the three known dreadnoughts of the Hegemony, and demolished them with only minor damage suffered, thanks to the upgraded armor, barriers and weaponry. The tables were quickly turned however, when another dreadnought dropped out from FTL, and opened fire on the asari vessels from advanced particle weaponry. The batarian ship employed distinctive lightning weaponry as a close-quarters defense against fighters and guided ordnance, while displaying a disturbingly fast and sophisticated damage control system. The clash ended in a draw; both the batarian dreadnought and the remains of the asari task force limping away.

The Collectors also struck several times, targeting mostly smaller, distant human colonies. While their forces never even approached the fleet beaten back at Fehl Prime, even a single Collector ship was more than a match against a small frontier colony - and they could vanish by the time the relief force arrived. The ships arriving post-raid always found the colony emptied of all human life, with only rather nasty traps left behind.

From deep within the Terminus Systems, rumors started about unknown vessels dropping out from seemingly nowhere, wielding laser and plasma technology far beyond even that of the Alliance, and cloaking systems more sophisticated than even the Normandy-class frigates. As the rumors always mentioned these ships in connection with a destroyed Blood Pack, Blue Sun or Eclipse force, the Council put a rather low priority on investigating whether the unknown vessels were potentially willing allies - after all, the resources were spread rather thin, as it was.

And not just the naval and intelligence assets - the war in shadows also taxed the special forces. The turian Blackwatch repelled several assassination attempts at key military figures (including Primarch Fedorian himself), while Cabalists purged indoctrinated zealots from the chain of command. The STG was fighting a gruelling war of attrition for the datasphere to keep their classified projects from the Shadow Broker. Asari Huntresses clashed with Eclipse Sisters as Jona Sederis incited more and more Maidens to embrace the decadent lifestyle of the Sisterhood and to turn against the hidebound, traditional Matriarchs of the Thirty. The N7s faced an almost-unprecedented rise in cultist activity - and not just on Terra but on Mars as well; both the Prothean Archives and the Noctis Facility had been assaulted by rather well-equipped teams, with impressive cyberwarfare support.

The Council forces were holding the line, true, but all leaders knew that it was a very delicate balance, relying too much on luck for comfort - but there was not much that could have been used as a decisive boost to improve their status.

The Battle of Haestrom would change that.


	33. Chapter 22

**Haestrom, Dholen system (27/03/2184)**

Tali's fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed frantically, trying to repel the hacking attempt. She knew the stakes all too well - and cursed herself every moment for dragging the others down, for leading them into this trap. Sure, back on the Citadel it sounded like a worthy risk, and she was aware that her team members were all volunteers, but still - she was an Admiral's daughter, they all looked up to her for leadership (even that polite, extremely competent, definitely too formal and absolutely not imposing or attractive bosh'tet Kal), and she failed in her duty, led them right into the blindingly obvious trap. And now, unless she managed to repel the geth hacking avalanche, nobody would even know what happened with them. Eyes narrowed behind her faceplate, Tali willed her fingers to type faster, her omnitool to compile the programs even quicker - she would not let her people down. She would not disappoint her father. She would not let her team down. She would make her uncle and friends proud - even if she had to work through an increasingly blurry HUD, failing suit filters and heat regulators. And no, she would never, ever admit that those were not mechanical failures - keelah, Garrus and Shepard would never let her live it down! The sound that leaves her throat is definitely not a weird mix of sob and laughter; how could it be, when she has not seen Garrus for months, and Shepard even longer? She was not even sure if the human has recovered, or was still in a coma; she thought sometimes to contact Liara or maybe Wrex to see if they knew more, but always refrained, because honestly, she was afraid to know. At least this way, she could always hope.

Lines of code blurred past the screen, too fast for even a seasoned STG operative to follow, and Tali felt a justified surge of pride that she managed to keep up with state-of-the-art geth cyberassaults using centuries-old quarian equipment. Still, she was all too aware that it was only a question of time - and when she failed, the likely last records from the time of the Morning War would be gone, the chance of making peace with the Consensus along with them. Sure, she was far from certain that the data and recollections contained within the archive were the full truth, considering how contrary they were to the official Migrant Fleet memories, but that was the main reason she believed they contained more than a sliver of truth. She snorted. Obviously, the time she spent away from the Fleet has affected her deeper than she thought.

Her omnitool chimed, signalling another batch of the ancient databank being encrypted and readied for transmit - not that she had any ship in range for receiving it. Still, it never hurt to be prepared. After all, Kal's team may succeed in destroying the geth jamming.

Tali scowled, shook her head. No, she did not really believe even Reegar capable of that. Keelah, it would have been a very difficult task for Shepard's team, and they would not have had to worry about suit punctures. Not that those were the main problem on Haestrom - and she refused to worry about the sun's erratic behavior. Even compared to the data from the quarian observation logs, Dholen seemed to age at an alarming rate, and there was no real explanation for it. What geth data she could access from the hacked databanks, it seemed that the geth could not find a reason either. Or at least, the sane geth couldn't. These so-called heretics, as the emissary platform called them were rather different - more advanced in a way, more similar to the ones she saw and fought against during her time on the Normandy.

She shook herself, as she realized the sounds of firefight coming ever closer, wincing whenever a scream of pain cut through the comm channel, or a team member's vitals went dark in her HUD. She bitterly regretted not having the same remote medigel-administering software that Spectres had, but with all the interference and jamming, it may very well have been useless anyway. Still, at least it would have been a chance to do something. Knowing that what she did was important was a very, very small and distant thing when her people were dying out there, trying to protect her, to protect their future.

Tali cursed herself for letting the easy beginnings of the operation lull her into a false confidence. Sure, she did set up some halfway-decent security options, early warning systems, multiple encrypted comm channels, but really, if not for Kal'Reegar's insistence and quiet competence, the first heretic attack would have overwhelmed them physically.

Her omnitool chimed again, and she focused once more on the console, frowning. Sure, her firewalls and anti-hacking measures held up, but the geth attacks were coming closer to a breakthrough, shaving away nanoseconds from the safety net of response time available to her with each attempt. Tali estimated that at best, they would have a few hours before the machines overwhelmed her systems - then she laughed, a bitter, cynical sound. From the noise outside, they would be lucky to survive another hour physically; what would the electronic systems matter if they were all plasma-burned corpses anyway?

With the historical and astronomical data packed, she begins what, perhaps, should have been more important - then again, she is still young, and very much her father's daughter, so it's perhaps understandable that she thinks on her people and their legacy first, current events only second. Her fingers fly over the omnitool's keyboard as she starts to compile and compress the data her team gathered on the heretics since the insertion two weeks ago. Combat profiles on the various platforms, including preferred tactics, weaponry, equipment, movement and attack patterns. Useful hacking tricks. Encryption protocols and comm channels used. Estimates on the surface-side relay the geth have pointed at Dholen itself, and the weird electromagnetic phenomena surrounding it. The cyclopean towers reaching for the system's star, their peaks sometimes covered in eldritch light, constantly radiating an aura of dark, intoxicating, eternal suffering. Platform structural weaknesses. Estimates on the various characteristics of the particle weapons used by the geth. Combat logs and footage. Information paid for in blood - her team's blood. And she almost ignored or forgot it, because she felt the historical data more important. Was that how her father felt, all the time? Did Wrex ever feel like this? Did Shepard? Or Garrus? Oh keelah, even with the dire situation, she would like to have the smug turian around - at the very least, he could make her laugh. And it would be fun to see him and Kal interact, so similar and yet so different.

While the data packet was being compiled, Tali turned her attention to the screens displaying the still-remaining connections she managed to wrest from the geth in order to access the orbital relays and the FTL comm buoy. Sure, there were still open connections, but they were degrading by the minute, and even before her team's dead, they would be cut off from outside, and with the unstable comms, she could not be sure that her data packets would manage to punch through the geth jamming to reach the Citadel. She narrowed her eyes at the sensor ghost flitting in-system - it was again that weird electromagnetic signal traveling between Dholen and Haestrom, and now there was something in the outer system as well. Clearly, the instruments were suffering the constant pressure of the assaults on the datasphere, not to mention the insane conditions of the system itself.

With a deep breath, she focused on finishing the program she worked on for the last few days, almost without any pause - for the chance that she might create a sure way to ensure that the last transmission of her team would be safe. She did not want to dwell on the similarities between her hastily cobbled-together VI and the precursors of the geth. She did not want to consider she might be sending a newborn sentient into its practical demise. Then again, if the geth and the Reapers to whom they apparently swore fealty manage to achieve their aim, that nascent hybrid of a VI and AI she created will be less than a drop in the ocean of casualties.

With an effort of will, she forced herself to calm down, so she could give her orders (not that Kal's team needed it, but still), as the final chunks of the data packets were compiled, ready for burst-transmission. The heretics were battering down the old observatory, and she could see a number of oversized siege platforms lining up - obviously, Kal's sabotage mission was not as successful as they hoped it would be. Tali checked her shotgun, and she thought for a moment on her self-styled uncle - maybe if she had accepted his offer of Urdnot escort, they would have fared better. After a moment of deliberation, she shook her head. It likely would not have mattered, and anyway, when it came to fighting geth, not even the krogans were a match to her people. She only hoped that Zaal'Koris could convince the other Councilors and the Admiralty Board to give this peace a chance.

Tali closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths to center herself - it would not be long now, she knew. There were barely a dozen of her team still alive, and according to Kal's terse report, the heretics would bring their siege platforms online in less than ten minutes. After that, well, not even her skills with machines would be enough to keep the kinetic barriers of the observatory up and running while fending off geth cyberassaults.

Something drew her gaze towards the sensors once again - that flitting ghostlike image, an elusive trail of something heading in-system, and her eyes went wide. She knew what could cause that particular type of blip. She served on that ship, after all. But it could only have been wishful thinking - that ship was destroyed by the Collectors, after all, and she heard nothing about either the Alliance or the Hierarchy rebuilding it. No, it was not real. Likely the lack of sleep and food finally caught up to her; she did read that people got sometimes delusions, hallucinations when suffering extreme stress and exhaustion, and being under constant geth assaults for two weeks certainly qualified. That sensor blip could only be her wishful imagination. That incoming communications request, a hallucination.

"Need a hand, Tali? We were in the neighborhood, figured I'd drop by to see how my favorite quarian princess is doing."

Streaking across the electromagnetic storm battering its systems, the Normandy SR-2 swooped down with a deadly grace and precision, her main battery spitting blue-white positronic energy at the siege platforms, turning the imposing geth machinery into half-melted debris piles.

* * *

The fragments of the destroyed geth siege engines were still in the air as the sleek human frigate slowed its approach, hovering in place as its docking bay opened, and a Kodiak shuttle dropped out, heading towards the wartorn observatory.

"Have fun down there, Commander, and give my regards to Tali!"

"Will do, Joker. Just don't scratch my ship."

"Aye, Shepard. Punch it, EDI!"

"Acknowledged, Mr. Moreau."

Joker's hands flew over the haptic screens, practically turning the Normandy on its tail as he sped away towards space, away from the ground team. A glance confirmed that the orbiting geth fleet located them and was naturally on an intercept course.

"Adams, can you squeeze a bit more power from the core?" The pilot swerved around the corpse-green beams intent on tearing the frigate apart. Not waiting for the answer, he spoke again. "EDI, how is the stealth system, can we go silent?"

"Negative, Mr. Moreau. Atmospheric conditions and electromagnetic interference are slowing down the cooling cycle. It will take approximately 7 to 8 minutes before we can engage the stealth system again." A second of pause, as the Normandy shuddered, the kinetic barrier flickering under the hit. "Deploying countermeasures and decoy drones."

"Great, thanks EDI!" As the main battery's indicator signalled fire readiness once again, Joker turned the Normandy once more, and an incandescent beam of energy tore into the dead-black, insectile hull of the closest geth cruiser, carving a deep furrow into the superstructure, secondary explosions flickering from within. An alarm shrilled, warning the pilot about numerous target locks, heralding incoming ordnance. "Adams, about that power boost … now would be a good time."

"We are already running the reactor at full power, Joker." There was a clear warning in the Chief Engineer's voice. "I can run it up to 110, but you know very well what that would mean in case of a barrier failure."

The Normandy reached the upper edge of Haestrom's torn atmosphere, screaming towards the void of space just before the five remaining cruisers could box her in, and tear her to scraps. Free from the gravity well, Joker sent a grin towards his copilot, forgetting that she was a synthetic unit - not that the voice made remembering that little fact easier. Come to think of it, neither did her figure - maybe that was intentional on the Alliance's part? Surely, if they built infiltration units, it was just as well that they were not obvious at first glance...

"What did I tell you, EDI? Those flashlight heads are no match for my girl."

Paging through screens and menus with inhuman speed and efficiency, EDI answered with a distracted

"I was not aware that you were part of the Normandy's design team, Mr. Moreau. Your service record does not indicate shipyard deployments either, or involvement with the development of synthetic mobile platforms. Thus, I fail to see how you could claim that I am your girl."

Joker sputtered, his eyes wide in disbelief as he stared at her - yet even so, he managed to evade the incoming volley of the geth ships. His jaws worked as he tried to muster a coherent answer. The android turned her face towards him, and he could have sworn she grinned at him.

"That was a joke."

The Normandy shuddered as another particle beam hit the barrier. The lights and displays flickered for a moment, and EDI's head snapped towards the distant geth cruiser, her eyes narrowing, voice going flat and businesslike.

"Geth attempting to overload the systems by brute force. Adjusting defensive measures accordingly. Compensating power draw." Screens flickered past before her with inhuman speed. "Geth cruiser squadron moving to maximize efficiency of cybernetic assaults."

"Put their likely course on my screen, EDI." The tactical plot lit up, and he evaluated it for a brief moment with narrowed eyes, his mind racing, searching for appropriate tactics, evaluating approach vectors, calculating course corrections, a hundred other small details. A possible solution clicked in his head, and Joker spent another second analyzing it for weaknesses, before nodding in confirmation. Yes, he could use this trick now - if only this once.

"The decoy drones are still active, right?"

"Affirmative."

"And the geth don't really pay them much attention, correct? Their sensors are sophisticated enough to pick us up at this range, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Moreau."

"How much fine control do you have over the drones? And how much fuel do they have remaining?"

"I can mimic any maneuver you pull with less than a second's delay. Their fuel reserves should be enough for 10 minutes of sustained combat maneuvering." The mech's head tilted sideways a bit. "However, as most of my processing power is required to repel the geth cybernetic assaults, I would advise you to consider the drones an order of magnitude slower than the Normandy itself, Mr. Moreau."

"Good enough, EDI." He took a deep breath, before keying the intercom. "Traynor, I need you to keep a comm channel open for each drone; do not let the geth jam them at any cost. Taylor, on my mark, fire two spreads of C-type torpedoes, and slave their guidance to the decoy drones."

Not waiting for the acknowledgements, Joker's hands flew over the haptics, and the Normandy turned, burning full speed towards the geth ships, dancing between the murderous corpse-green beams of energy clawing at her hull. A quick check during a turn, and Joker shouted into the comm.

"Taylor, first spread now!"

The frigate shuddered as a trio of warheads shot from the launch tubes, as the Normandy passed by one of its decoys; the electronic signature of the ordnance lost in the proximity of the human ship and the ECM of the drone. Joker grinned madly, as he saw EDI adjust the drone's vector to parallel the Normandy's vector closely, yet ensuring to keep a proper distance, maintaining the illusion of a VI-controlled, mindless decoy.

Blue-white and corpse-green beams of light illuminated the void above Haestrom, as Joker positioned his ship with machine-like precision over the second drone just a minute later.

"Taylor, second spread, now!" Joker took a deep breath, swallowed nervously. "Adams, go to 110 percent on the reactor."

"Aye, Helm."

"EDI, reroute all non-critical power to barriers and thrusters. Traynor, keep those comm channels open for two more minutes, no matter the cost!"

The Normandy shot forward, her kinetic barriers shining under the close hits not even her skilled pilot could fully evade, as she raced towards the closing geth formation, her main guns spitting coherent beams of blue-white fire at the enemy ships.

A part of Joker's mind was aware of the warnings flickering on the various screens, of Adams' voice telling him about the reactor status, EDI running a commentary on the geth hacking attempts against the Normandy, but these were all irrelevant. Most of his attention was focused on the tactical plot, tracking their own course, hoping and praying that the geth, even upgraded to this extent, were machinelike enough to be predictably logical - and sure in their technical superiority. If not, well, he had flown against Sovereign and survived, he could deal with five geth cruisers. Of course. Easily. Especially if…

He grinned, as he saw the aspect change in the geth formation. They did indeed took the bait. A quick check on the course of the drones, a flick of the wrist to chart the course needed for the two decoys and to send that over to EDI - and the drones veered off, burning through their fuel reserves in mere seconds, the geth targeting systems ignoring their presence, the targeting systems punching through the jamming to find the human ship itself. Just as planned, really. Now, if he could only keep the Normandy from a direct hit for a few more seconds...

"Taylor, detonate warheads, now!"

And the cold silence of the void came alive with howling, giggling insanity, as six vortices of white unlight unfurled their tentacles amidst the geth formation, tearing into dead-black hulls, turning the insectile vessels brittle and grey. Green lightning coruscated over the hulls of the geth cruisers, trying to burn away the burrowing tentacles before they could rupture the ships and devour the sentience within. The Normandy's ECM systems went to full power, EDI doing her best to disrupt and slow down the geth response, not giving the machines the nanoseconds needed to effectively combat the effects of the torpedoes. Joker turned the frigate once more, and blue-white beams of coruscating energy reached out from the main gun, punching through the shuddering geth cruisers being digested, sparing them the agony of being consumed by the beings released from within the warheads.

Joker slowed down, turned the Normandy back towards Haestrom in a lazy arc, to provide support if needed. Not that he thought it would come to that - not with Shepard on the ground. Still, it was what one did; and extra firepower never hurt.

"Jeff … look at that."

The pilot's eyes went wide as he took in the sight of the sensor screen; his mind almost buckling as he tried to make sense of the gossamer-thin halo of energy, electromagnetic distortion, gravitic field, tentacle of stellar matter that seemed to reach from Dholen towards Haestrom, lancing with unerring precision towards the landing zone - and he could not suppress a shudder at the malevolence emanating from the thing as he yelled into the comm, trying to warn Shepard and his team.

* * *

Miranda Lawson panted from the exertion. It has been a scant few minutes since Cortez dropped them at the quarian observatory, and Shepard had since then driven mercilessly forward, having left a fireteam and half of the Migrant Fleet marines to ensure Tali could finish her work. With the teams of Campbell and Westmoreland, and Kal'Reegar's half-dozen marines, the Spectre was pushing forward towards that cyclopean building.

The geth resistance was as stiff as she expected. Of course, she did extensively study the combat data from the Saren Crisis, especially the logs from the battles on Virmire and the Citadel. Thus, she could keep up with the rampaging Shepard, fighting hard to suppress her own smug satisfaction at the job well done. The already-deadly N7 Delta was an even more potent combatant, the months of regeneration allowing him to get used to the implants, to utilize them to their fullest capabilities - and to wreak havoc among their enemies. She well knew what he was capable of before his coma, but his current performance surpassed even her most optimistic estimates. Despite her own perfected physique, despite her own bleeding-edge implants, years of experience, it was all she could do to keep up with Shepard.

It was a somewhat humiliating and exhilarating experience for her. Though she did not have a formal N-level training, she always estimated (based on training and field experiences) that she could consider herself on par with N7s, especially with her own esoteric abilities. She knew that there were a number of outstanding operatives who would surpass her, Shepard amongst them, but this was way beyond her expectations. Shepard mowed down even these improved geth with comparative ease, never standing still for a moment, never wasting a single shot or biotic field, never losing sight of his subordinates, always ensuring that their advance was perfectly coordinated, effortlessly integrating the quarians alongside the Alliance fireteams to create a finely tuned warmachine. She could now fully understand why the Illusive Man was willing to invest so much into bringing him back - and why the marines held him in such high regards. And, if she was honest with herself, she could easily see how and why the sheer physical presence and control Shepard exuded would draw even people like Liara … and herself.

A quick glance from behind the ruined wall she used as cover, then after a deep breath, she threw herself forward once more, her SMG bringing down the shields of a geth Juggernaut with a short burst, before a mnemonic gesture wrapped it into a biotic field, and slammed it against another of his kind. Behind, the marines laid down suppressive fire, before the biotics of the two fireteams could get into position to mimic her feat, while from further back, the quarians concentrated heavy weapons fire on any geth heavy or massed troops - and when such could not be spotted, their combat drones prowled around the formation, ensuring that no cloaked geth could approach undetected.

Miranda concluded that so far, things have been going well - almost too well, really. Sure, Shepard's presence and experience were significant factors, as was her own contribution, but still - since they started the assault, not a single member of their force went down, not even with a wound. Not even the fragile quarians. Yes, they were good - but not this good, especially not in such hostile conditions; with the way the electromagnetic storm played havoc with communications and shortened out shields, they should have had at least some light casualties. No, this definitely felt off.

She opened a private comm channel to Shepard, to warn him in case he did not yet come to a similar conclusion - and felt warmed by his affirmation of her estimate. His decision to continue, however predictable, still sent a chill down her spine; sure, it was not like they had much of a choice in the short run. Both of them could feel the higher dimensions swirling in chaos above the cyclopean tower, and knew that they had little time before whatever was coming manifested. She huffed, flashing a sardonic smile - it's not like it would be the first **Opera Night** she attended.

Corpse-green halo played along the side of the cyclopean tower, erupting in crackling lightning at the top as they reached the wide-open gate of the building. The electromagnetic storm picked up, even the light itself flickering, and minuscule tremors were spreading from the building. For a moment, Miranda thought she could hear the tortured moaning of Haestrom itself - probably just debris and masonry shifting, she considered. There was no indication that the geth had any aptitude or knowledge of the n-dimensional equations needed to reach Beyond, and call up the beings of the aether. Still, that did not mean their technological abilities should be underestimated - and, she realized with a shiver, she should not discount the possibility of the machines being given pointers by the Reapers. With a last check at the tortured sky, awash with multi-hued discharged, crackling arcs of energy, and suffused with an onrushing feeling of menace, she stepped inside the tower, following Shepard.

The building felt alive, in a loathsome, mechanical way - Miranda suppressed the urge to vomit as her mind immediately painted the image of a biomechanical womb ready to devour those who enter, just to feed its offspring of nightmarish abominations. Here and there, corpse-green lights shone faintly, seeming to emphasize the shadowy darkness of the vast chamber. The complex seemed to breathe with a slow, regular rhythm, each breath sending out a small shiver along the metallic floors. Deep canal and tubes ran from the sides to the dais illuminated in the center, traces of a metallic liquid still dribbling along the veins. Above the central podium, a geth Prime was visible, or at least the faint image of one.

Miranda's eyes narrowed, her visor cycling through various modes - every single one confirming that the dead-black Prime was just a mirage, yet she could feel something off with it, an undefinable presence, a cold, hungry menace radiating from it. The thing looked down on them in disdain, green lightning flickering over its bulk, its arm lifting with deliberate, uncaring slowness, corposant flickering around the yawning maw of the cannon.

"Scatter!" Shepard's shout tore into the air a second before a coruscating beam of sick green light carved a furrow into the metal floor, barely missing Campbell. The marines fired on the run, the withering barrage leaving absolutely no trace of damage on the machine, which gazed down on them with smug superiority. Miranda's lips twisted into a snarl. The thing underestimated them, badly. Even without her and Shepard, the marines would have figured it out eventually - but that's why the two of them were here. To see what was supposed to be unseen. To fight what was supposed to be untouchable. And to remind these mechanical abominations that humanity was no longer a mere prey of the darkness gnawing the roots of the sane universe.

Miranda took a deep breath, maglocked her SMG, her HUD magnifying the Prime, her eye looking for patterns, artifacts, possible weak spots - and when the next volley of the marines, along with a rocket from Kal'Reegar, passed through the mirage once more, she flashed a vicious, triumphant smile. She rose, biotic energy pooling in her outstretched hand, her mouth forming words in a language older than mankind. Resisting the sideways pull of the fragmenting dimensions, she reached out, her biotic field tearing into the metallic body, the flickering artifact deforming, melting under the onslaught, before an explosion sent everyone but Shepard and the Prime flying, the machine solidifying atop the dais, cold fury and the promise of eternal retribution in its gaze as it glared at Miranda.

With a grating, metallic howl of rage, the thing charged, its cannon flaying barrier, armor, flesh and bone from an unlucky marine, the man's scream of agony cutting off abruptly as the beam disintegrated his torso and lungs. The others fell to their knees, clutching at their heads, weapons falling from trembling fingers, as the sound ate its way to the nerves, paralyzing, rewriting them, pushing sentients toward mindless, terror-driven flight. Miranda barely managed to throw up a barrier in time to deflect another blast, saving one of their snipers, then she realized she left herself open. Her hand blurred towards her SMG, even though she knew it would not be enough, as she threw herself to the side.

Time slowed down, as the Prime bore down on her, every minute detail etched with unnatural clarity into her senses. The marines moving as if wading through molasses, their regained guns lifting with painful sluggishness. Her own body still only halfway through drawing her sidearm, the words of power not yet reaching her lips. The dead-black bulk of the geth, minuscule, insectile creatures swarming over its armor as it towered over her, having crossed the distance in the blink of an eye, the yawning maw of its cannon igniting with murderous corpse-green light, aimed straight at her face, hoarfrost creeping over the machine, the ground, her armor.

With a resounding boom of displaced air, Shepard drove a fist into the chest of the Prime, his lit omniblade missing the CPU by a hair, even as he forced back the mech. The two of them _moved_ in a whirling dance of flashing barriers, seemingly levitating droplets of liquid metal and blood, sickly green flashes opposed by sparks of golden radiance, hoarfrost tracing patterns on the floor under their feet.

Time resumed with a crash, and Miranda coughed, spat blood on the thirsty, eagerly trembling metal of the cavernous chamber, her voice rising with a strident cry as she relayed her instructions to the marines, counting down the seconds, praying that Shepard could keep the Prime focused on himself while the two other biotics raced to her side. Making a mental note to thank both the Spectre and her instructors for having drilled the usual marine battle cant in her brain, she outlined her plan with a few words, barked orders for Campbell and Westmoreland, trusting in Kal'Reegar to keep up with the heavy and sniper fire as best he could.

The trio of biotics lit up, their coronas meshing together, the concentrated biotic power reaching for the Prime, attempting to push the mechanical monster outside the normal flow of time. Miranda's eyes widened a fraction of a second before the biotic stasis field and the chronometric device countered each other in a concussive detonation, that sent everything flying. She was barely aware of the sickening crack as the neck of one of her biotics snapped. She did not register the barely-suppressed howl of pain as the other fell into one of the canals criss-crossing the floor, and the living metal began to digest him alive. She barely spared a glance at her HUD or surroundings to check that barely half dozen of them were still combat worthy.

She only cared that the Prime-thing was pulling itself up, its previous wounds slowly filling with liquid metal solidifying into the familiar dead-black carapace, his stance mocking, superior in its might, sure in its victory. She could feel a hateful, defiant snarl distorting her lips, and she stood tall before the monster, another presence at her side. They exchanged a brief look, communicating in a way only frequent visitors of the Opera could - and then Shepard was off with a boom of displaced air, his charge sending the recovering geth stumbling.

Miranda swallowed, and began to chant, her hands tracing patterns older than humanity, the sigils glowing with baleful light, as the Prime began to glow, the unnatural heat boiling away the dead-black carapace layer by layer, the regeneration slowing down as the insectile nanomachines were fried by the increasing heat. Steam obscured the mech and Shepard, as the Spectre fought to keep the beast's attention from Miranda, his omniblade scoring deep gashes into the armor, sending liquid metal spraying into the air, his eyes blazing with golden power.

Precise shots tore out gobs of molten metal from the Prime-thing, as the surviving marines opened fire whenever an opportunity arose. The mech lashed out with crackling arcs of sick green lightning, boiling away those too slow or unlucky to avoid them, and with each death, the summit of the cyclopean tower lit up with eager, hungry flames, and the ever-present trembling intensified, as the comms howled under the strain of the electromagnetic storm's lashes.

Miranda heard her own voice assume that gurgling, frothing quality she well knew; distantly, she was aware of the blood vessels rupturing within her lungs, brain, and eyes, as she forced herself to keep up the chanting, the mech no longer able to move or shoot, before it transformed into a white-hot inferno of superheated metal, and she fell down, coughing blood, her armor flooding her system with medigel to stabilize the operative.

She could feel the survivors hobble closer, checking for lifesigns, movement, anything to indicate that there was no further immediate danger - and her bloodshot eyes widened, as both armor sensors and instincts screamed a warning.

"Shepard, Guard, now!" Barely through the first syllable, the Spectre already moved, his voice echoing in the vast cavern, the coruscating lattice of crystalline power flashing into existence around them, as the tower's walls and roof peeled away. She faintly heard a gurgling, giggling cry ending with a thud as someone's mind apparently buckled under the sight, and she herself could feel the pull of insanity crooning its siren song for her.

Beyond the thin layer of the compressed dimensional maze, the dying star was visible on the sky, half-hidden by the crackling energy of the electromagnetic storm. Hunger and malice flooded the ruins, as the presence coalesced, the crust of the planet howling and trembling in agony as the towering metallic figure stepped from the air, veins of magma radiating from under him, the shadow of flames flickering behind its silvery hide. Reality wept and howled as the presence of the infant being solidified.

Shepard grunted, as gravity pressed down on the Guard, the weight of a neutron star sending cracks spiderwebbing across the labyrinthine depths of the crystalline maze. Light coalesced into a blade of heated darkness, as the fiery shadow burned itself into the aegis.

* * *

In a city of shadows, lies and treachery, a blacksmith looked up, his face a mask of hatred. His will reached out across the vast distance, and in the darkness of the void, his creation answered, its engines igniting as it moved with purpose, guided by the small fleet of kindred vessels along the pathways of the vast web.

* * *

In the depths of an oceanic trench, the Apex Race contemplated the flare of oh-so-familiar, hated presence, knowing full well that they could not effectively intervene.

* * *

Quakes shook the Noctis Facility on distant Mars, as if something vast shifted beneath the skin of the planet, almost like a sleeper struggling for awakening.

* * *

In the extragalactic void, hunger flared with murderous fury, as the Harbinger sensed the delicious feast of power that drew more and more of its consciousness towards full awakening.

* * *

And on board of a fragile vessel braving the currents, an ancient navigator checked his compass, and nodded towards his oldest companion, as he steered the ship towards the firestorm.

* * *

There could be no consensus about the insanity unfolding outside. All runtimes, all its processing capabilities were tasked to capacity trying to keep up with and make sense of the phenomena outside the Argo's hull, when the vessel dropped out from FTL within the atmosphere of Haestrom. Already that maneuver was enough to send a number of Legion's constituents questioning the mental state of organics in general, and Major Pieterzoon in particular - still, the overwhelming majority pointed out the bizarre past events involving locations the strange compass of his lead the trio to. That, by itself, would not have been enough, all things considered. The deciding factor was when the selfsame runtimes suggested employing a concept that has been previously thought a strictly organic characteristic. It was not scientific, predicated on uncertainty, on feelings, on outside factors that may or may not have existed at all - yet those questioning runtimes had to acknowledge the evidence, especially in light of the code upgrade still lying dormant within Legion's platform. Yes, this reaction merited forming the consensus, and the geth emissary, as first of its kind, placed its faith into an organic being.

Of course, faith alone was not enough - not when the previously unshakeable constants, the very laws of the universe were threatening to collapse. There had to be understanding. There had to be a reason behind all this. And, more importantly, there had to be a way to undo all this, to prevent it from spreading, from consuming the humans on-planet, not to mention the still-surviving creators. Legion would have preferred to claim that the sensors are defective, or that they were being jammed, suffering from a highly sophisticated cybernetic assault; any of those would be better, easier to understand, to manage, to counter, than the impossibility its own instruments are relaying to its runtimes.

 _Haestrom is suffering from extreme tectonic and volcanic activity. Veins of magma radiate from the ruins of the cyclopean tower, plumes of molten rock spurt into the atmosphere at over nine hundred locations and counting. The planet screams like a tortured soul in the audio pickups, as the upper crust is disintegrated, laid bare down to the molten core, the fire within spreading its agonizing touch over the surface. Newly-born volcanoes push upwards, yawning maws of fire and heat intent on swallowing the tortured sky. Gravity is going berserk, dropping to zero and increasing to several hundred standard Gs simultaneously at the same locations. Darkness becomes light, light becomes darkness, as the electromagnetic spectrum inverts itself. A vortex of heat distortion is forming around the fiery creature shining with solar flares. The very fabric of the material, real, sane universe is burning away from its presence, the energies of a dying star nourishing its immortal, eternal hunger - and yet each of Legion's runtimes can sense the creature wanting to devour more, swallowing all into its burning, depthless stomach, to feed its all-consuming wrath._

Legion managed to pinpoint two minuscule islands of normalcy on the surface of the dying planet - and a few of its components expressed their disbelief that locations enclosed within cracking, multi-dimensional barriers that hold up in defiance of the laws of physics can be considered normal. The consensus of Legion's runtimes was, of course, that compared to the other phenomena affecting the planet, these were minuscule in scope - and had clearly documented precedent. A scant few runtimes marked it as a type of reward for the simulated emotional investment; after all, they reasoned, the emissary had proclaimed its opinion about a singular being currently on-site, traveling with them. In the unknowable universe, where apparently even the fundamental rules of physics and sanity were anything but constant, that claim about the enigmatic creature that called himself Professor Munir Yildirim may very well live up to the epithet that Legion appended to him.

As the Argo hurtled through the suffering, agony-wracked atmosphere of the tortured planet, the emissary of the Geth Consensus struggled alongside an ancient human veteran of countless journeys, both intent on keeping the vessel and its passengers alive long enough to salvage the situation - even if Legion could not form a consensus on how exactly that was supposed to happen. What it could do however was to shelve that discussion for a later point - the topmost priority was ensuring the evacuation of the still-living sentients from Haestrom.

If not for focusing all its considerable attention and processing power outwards, the geth emissary may have noticed when the sharp tang of ozone suffused the interior of the ship, or when the light within took on a warm, golden hue, as the being standing behind them readied himself to meet the howling vortex of destruction outside.

Legion was not aware of these small changes, but a fraction of its companion's mind registered all this, his hand flittering to the ancient symbol he wore around his neck for a fraction of a second. The major knew. He had witnessed a similar event before, after all - and he prayed that the saint, the knight, the dragonslayer would once again triumph.

* * *

Tali was frantically typing, while praying to whatever ancestors she could think of, as the world went mad around them - and if not for the small trinket Shepard gave her so long ago, they may not have survived even a second. As it was, the dome of scintillating, refracted dimensions sheltered the wounded, tired quarians and SA marines from the destruction raging on the other side. She desperately tried to make sense of it, to analyze, to document the phenomen - just to predict and prevent it in the future. The young quarian suppressed a chuckle that threatened to turn into a sob - this was not the time for her to fall apart. Sure, the universe went mad. Sure, they would likely die within minutes, at best. Sure, there wasn't anything meaningful she could contribute to combat whatever was causing havoc. Still, she refused to just sit and wait. Even if the data she collected was insane, and proved unusable in the unlikely event she managed to time it correctly and send it before the comm channels collapsed completely under the onslaught of the electromagnetic storm overhead.

Her breathing quickened as she realized the barrier between the insanity and their shelter was shrinking, as it was burned away seemingly by the very air, as it too caught fire. The coruscating inferno of the dying planet painted the skies crimson, the fissures spreading on the ground vomiting forth magma in great, heaving bursts, the constant, tormented shrieks of the physical constants drilling into her ears as she tried to focus on her instruments, compiling these phenomena to another data packet. And above all, Tali tried not to think what could have happened with the others, with Shepard's team. Clearly, they must have failed, as she was sure the Spectre would have prevented this insanity with his life, if need be. If Shepard was not enough, what chance did any one of them have to combat this insane star-spawned monstrosity?

She swallowed, over and over again, fighting back her tears. She would not give the monster the satisfaction of breaking down. Not while she was alive, not after she was long dead. She was a quarian, the daughter of an admiral, adopted niece to a krogan warlord, member of a Spectre's crew when saving the galaxy. Tali turned, her glowing eyes narrowing in the direction of the cyclopean tower with determination.

And above her, around her, small golden motes of power lit up the sky, their light and warmth igniting the spark of hope, of triumph, of defiance in her and her ailing comrades. She did not know how, or why, but she was sure - victory would be theirs, as the ancestors themselves seemed to stand by their side.

Above, on a descending trajectory, a small private yacht shot past, blazing with golden might, the laws of the natural universe reasserting themselves in its wake.

* * *

Miranda's mind raced, as her body convulsed in agony, blood trickling from her mouth, as she tried to assist Shepard in maintaining the Guard. She could see the Spectre pushing himself, could hear the gurgling quality of his voice, and knew better than any just how much stress was needed to push the new and upgraded Spectre to this point. No, she would not dwell on the impossibility of the enemy breaking through the supposedly-unassailable Guard - after all, it has happened before during the destruction of the first Normandy. Even without that, she knew well enough that for all their knowledge, all their might, no human, not even the best of the N7 Deltas could utilize the n-dimensional practices to their full extent; they had to be satisfied with pale, degraded imitations, whose main saving grace was that the power consumption and drain on the mind was tolerable enough for short times.

The surviving marines and quarians huddled close, uncertainty and a measure of terror radiating from their posture - small wonder, since they were face to face with an enemy beyond their skills and equipment, their only protection two operatives, and one of those was already almost out of the fight. Miranda bared blood-stained teeth in a hateful snarl of defiance as the flame-wreathed creature of liquid metal floated closer on wings of burning gravity, burrowing into the non-euclidean depths of the Guard with tendrils of black fire thinner than a pencil yet thicker than a human torso, the higher dimensions slowly but surely destabilizing under the pressure of the unnatural inferno. She began to put together her last incantation, the words of power necessary to hurt the monster - not to kill, she was not foolish enough to waste energy on that. No, she would strike at its ability to feed, to draw energy from the celestial spheres and mundane stars; others could then strike the finishing blow.

Her eyes widened as she spotted the closing ship braving the tides of fire and molten rock that was the sky of Haestrom, the yacht navigating the unseen currents of stellar matter and magma with preternatural skill and machine-like precision, a cloak of golden radiance trailing in its wake. Sanity and stability seemed to spread from the ship, the crumbling barriers of the physical reality, the universal laws and constants regaining their supremacy, halting and at places reknitting the burned, magma-encrusted boundaries. Motes of golden warmth, sparks of defiant power drifted in the pleasantly cool air beneath the failing Guard, as the sharp tang of ozone tickled Miranda's nose. She turned her head, looking for the source, as the tall, imposing figure seemed to step from a crack in reality.

She recognized him, of course. One could not obtain the skill and knowledge she possessed without meeting the professors from Kathmandu; and even though she has not met their elusive leader personally, she has seen his face in the files of the Illusive Man, in newscasts, in intelligence reports. She wanted to laugh at the cruel fate that when she finally met such a pioneer of arcanoscience, it was under the liquid metal wings of a burning angel - and that such a person would throw away his life for people like her and the marines.

The fiery monster halted for an eternal moments, before a voice of crackling tectonic plates and hissing, overpressurized magma rumbled forth from the featureless mask of flame-wrought metal. She could not understand the words, did not know the language, yet the boundless wrath, the all-consuming hunger and desire to see reality burn seeped into her soul, searing her mind for a moment, before a golden warmth embraced her.

+++THEY ARE MY PEOPLE, AND YOU SHALL NOT HAVE THEM.+++

And the confines of Yog-Sothoth's Guard exploded with golden lightning, as Munir Yildirim stood before the angel of burning wrath.

* * *

Dark flames spread their fiery shadows as liquid metal surges eagerly forward, intent on swallowing and eradicating the shining figure in its path, to consume its power, to feed the furnace of its boundless wrath. Golden light pulses, stabbing deep into the titanic shape, burning away the flaming essence of the ascendant star-god, stopping the onslaught. Thunder rumbles above them, as jagged streaks of blue-white lightning tear into the molten red-black magma of the tortured sky, chasing the veins of flowing metal threading towards the distant star.

Tendrils of hungry flames lick at and start consuming the very flesh of the golden figure, before exploding away into droplets of emotions, as a pulse of righteous fury washes over them. A flash of light illuminates the darkness at the heart of the yawning, flame-wreathed black hole threatening to swallow the planet, and a blade of solidified golden lightning stabs into the heart of the titan. Dholen and Haestrom wail in pain, the heartsblood of stars flowing freely from the wound.

The minuscule traces of life present at Haestrom unprotected by n-dimensional barriers perish as the vengeful gaze of the star-god sweeps over the field of battle, locking onto the shining figure with unending, boundless fury. Burning waves of cascading gravitic force and the flame-wreathed swathes of the electromagnetic spectrum seek to bury Munir Yildirim under the tidal waves of their combined force. Cold defiance and inhuman determination stop the avalanche of power in its tracks, the golden motes of power highlighting the spreading hoarfrost that weaves a web of stability over the surface of the disintegrating planet, its threads forming and reforming delicate geometric patterns.

Lightning blade and flaming metal clash in a symphony of destruction, as the two beings duel at blistering speed too fast to follow, on a level too slow to perceive by mortal senses, the blades flashing at human height first before meeting again in the molten magma of Haestrom's stratosphere. Droplets of golden light fall from the professor's fire-torn wounds, the dark fire of the star-god greedily consuming the motes of power, only to scream with a voice of continental plates grinding together, as the antithetical energies burn the black hole pulsating within its womb.

Deep furrows are carved into the skin of Haestrom as the dueling gods unleash their powers. Veins of magma spew their hatred at the golden adversary, columns of smoke and noxious fumes coiling around him to suffocate and burn him away. Pyroclastic clouds and rivers of lava march against the lone beacon of defiance, eternal hunger and unending wrath pounding on his psyche with every moment the two spend locked in their endless duel. Pillars of black flames dance around the two, seeking to carve into the upstart newcomer daring to stand up to a nascent star-god. Lightning flashes in return, carving precise, deadly pathways into clouds, veins of magma and liquid metal alike. Golden power shines in a scintillating halo around the elder professor, as he defies the impossibility the will of the metallic angel of fire tries to impose on Haestrom.

Dholen itself pulses in agony, its life and energy siphoned rapidly across the vast, minuscule distance of the magma-veined conduit of black metal, solar flares and shuddering antimatter. The lightminute-thick, torso-thin vein of sustenance trembles and howls in agony as hoarfrost spreads along the barely meter-long part of it that stretches for hundreds of thousands of kilometers all the way to the system's star itself. Cracks spread across the surface of reality itself, the raw stuff of chaotic emotions bleeding through, the star-god shuddering with revolted satisfaction, as the morsels of that antithetical realm burn it as the wrathful vampire of flames and metal feeds on them in a desperate hunger of unending fury.

Light, darkness, time itself spirals down into an endless vortex limned by fangs of flame-wreathed, liquid metal, the transcendent parasite hurling oblivion at its adversary, intent on pushing the ancient anomaly beyond the reach of time itself, to erase all it was, is, and would be. The borders separating the dimensions buckle before tumbling down into the lightless depths, the star-god's burning might leaving only the ashes of physical laws, before even those are snatched by the howling volcanic winds. For a fraction of a second lasting thousands of years, the golden figure seems to fall outside the boundaries of time.

Then, the fragile pattern etched by the thin tendrils of hoarfrost ignites with golden fire, interlocking planes of higher dimensions closing in on the metallic angel of fiery hunger. The feeder tendril connecting it with Dholen bleeds flames, stellar matter and power as the blade of solid lightning cuts deep, almost severing it. The skies of Haestrom roil and twist as the universal constants reassert themselves, the rampant, redirected power of the star-god turning back time for the planet itself, undoing much of the damage caused. Tectonic plates moan and howl with pyroclastic anger, black flames of antimatter surge forward to snuff out the golden light, only to be flayed away by a coruscating barrage of lightning.

Cracks form over the liquid metal of the star-god's carapace, as the pressure of the higher dimensions forces it ever downwards, flensing away its very being layer by layer. The shrinking dome of power trembles under the constant barrage from within and without, the metallic vampire batters on the cage heralding its demise with burning wrath, black flames, molten magma; the flow of time shrieks and buckles as the ascended parasite attempts to reweave causality, redirect the trap that ensnared its might. To no avail; the cage is anchored too strongly, its focal points bleed their emotions, thoughts and desires, they wail and scream under the stress but they hold on, denying the star-god the chance to escape.

The wounded conduit of power connecting the figure of liquid metal with Dholen pulses with loathsome life and energy as the angel of fire drew on the already-tenuous connection to empower itself or at least to save its very being from the relentless pressure. Too little, too late.

In the dark void beyond the system's edge, motes of scintillating light started coalescing in firing chamber of the ancient Talisman. The dust of dreams, shards of nightmares, flares of passion merged with the screams of dead and dying, the pain of wounds, guilt of survival, fierce determination, joy of battle, terror, rage, awe - all that and more became encapsulated in those swirling points of impossible colors, fed and empowered by hundreds of trained minds, whose presence in that realm of emotions was so much stronger. The black void brightens, reality itself straining as the ancient mechanism hums ever stronger, building to a frenetic crescendo of insane unreality, a miniature star awakening to life in the darkness. Aboard the slender vessels accompanying the immense artifact, all crewmembers give way to their aeons-old hatred and rage, their warlocks and seers shaping, channeling the inferno of raw emotions to the shining crystalline mind of the Talisman itself, as the vortex of unnameable colors is born.

The scintillating, growing ball of light pulses with the heartbeat of imagination, of unreal potential, of the eternal wrath felt by the exiles towards those who brought them down; its tendrils of ethereal claws rip open the taut, thin veil of material reality, and then the impossible beam of incandescent light and power is born with a howl echoing in the mind of all sentients present in the Dholen system. The swirling, pulsing, immaterial beam races towards the bleeding, violated core of the system's star, the physical, sane reality of the materium weeping and warping in its wake.

The already-weakened Dholen buckles beneath the punishing onslaught of the timeless grudge, the star fading, falling inwards before the coruscating beam of power battering at its core overloads the straining heart of the half-digested star, and it explodes outwards, spreading its own mindless pain and fury to swallow all who hurt and tormented it.

The surface of Haestrom burns under the lashes of stellar radiation, heralding the incoming firestorm. Already-weakened continental plates and vents tear further, rapidly disintegrating under the strain of forces still duelling on the planet. The wounded, diminishing star-god, severed from its cradle, tries to funnel the incoming power of Dholen's death to replenish and rejuvenate itself, but only succeeds in throwing itself futilely at the bars of the dimensional cage. Too much of its very self has been flayed away already, too little attention has been given to the deceitful nature of its enemy. The nascent star-vampire fell to its own arrogance in believing itself stronger than the Dragon - and now it pays the price.

Gotha is consumed by the flames of the dying star, and destruction races towards the system's edge. A seemingly-fragile private yacht and an Alliance frigate are running towards the still-operational mass relay, barely keeping ahead of the vanguard of Dholen's fiery wrath. Charoum disintegrates under the lashing energy of the system's star, and the core of the relay shifts to a baleful red, before the ancient structure pulses once, then simply falls apart.

The vengeance of the tortured star ignites the dying Haestrom, and the planet joins its two siblings in oblivion, before the fury of Dholen is spent, and the star falls inwards, collapsing into a fraction of its former size and majesty, leaving the system scorched of any trace of sentients.


	34. Chapter 23

**Khar'shan, Hegemon's palace (05/04/2184)**

Captain Balak felt somewhat apprehensive as he headed towards the Hegemon's private strategium deep within the palace complex. He considered the Battle of Hiba a blessing, as opposed to the popular opinion that painted it as a heinous failure. The captain scoffed at the notion - sure, the Hegemony practically lost the old dreadnoughts, but those were pretty much obsolete anyway, thus they could be used for parts now; especially since the new design clearly displayed some glaring problems with control, power draw and maneuvering, despite its overwhelming potential. He could not really figure out why so many within the higher strata of the warrior caste did not seem capable of grasping the significance of a single batarian dreadnought standing up to an asari task force - a smaller one, mind, but still. Once the shipwrights managed to iron out the kinks, the Imperator-class would make the Hegemony once again a force to be reckoned with. And then, his people would finally be able to repay the scorn and indignities heaped on them by a smug, vain Council, who revelled in their perceived moral superiority, always quick in demonizing the batarians. Balak scoffed at that - as if the high and mighty Council races did not have enough secrets and black sheep to make the Hegemony look positively pristine! One just had to look at Ilium or Jona Sederis' Eclipse Sisterhood to know where the asari stood in depravity. One just had to ask the krogan to know how merciless the salarians could be. One just had to read turian history with a discerning eye to spot the atrocities committed and glossed over, all in the name of honor and the greater good. The quarians created the geth, then instead of asserting their dominance and establishing a beneficial relationship, the idiot suit-rats tried to kill off their creations; and what's more, they failed catastrophically at that. And the less said about the insanity that was humanity, the better.

Balak couldn't quite suppress a grim chuckle at his thoughts. Sure, he was not fully blind to the faults of the Hegemony - yet he knew that as long as the Hegemon provided them a conduit, a graspable interpretation for the teachings recorded in the Pillars of Strength, his race would endure and prosper. The others would not, could not understand the confidence and surety that was a result of knowing one's designated tasks in life, of being part of the chosen race of the gods, of working for the good of their race - and knowing that the other castes would support and encourage it, ensuring that members of a given caste would be able to focus all their efforts towards their god-given mandate. Sure, the turians grasped some of these concepts, but ever since they forsook their spiritual guidance, they betrayed the very foundations of a viable society.

The captain shook his head briefly, dismissing his musings as irrelevant - even though the recent events and dictates made him think about such things more often lately, this was neither the time nor the place for this. He frowned, as he stopped, contemplating the dark corridor lined with yawning vaults. Something was off, but he could not point it out immediately. He brought up his omnitool, and as the orange screen flared to life, he stiffened as it hit him. There was no presence, no hint of life - and come to think of it, he has not seen any guards ever since the palace gate's checkpoints. He controlled his instinctual reaction with an effort of will, then tried to patch into the Palace Guard internal network - and could not suppress the cold shivers when he couldn't. For a brief moment, he was torn between racing back to the gate, alert the guards there, or running forward and notify the Hegemon of the danger. A small, barely noticeable sound from the distant depths decided it for him, and Balak took off towards the Hegemon's strategium, trying not to think about how he was not wearing a combat hardsuit.

At the top of the stairway leading to his destination, he stopped for a second, taking the assault rifle from the corpse of the guard, quickly checking the downed warrior - and frowning when he noticed the killing wound. His mind raced, trying to recall where he had seen such a wound patterns; then his eyes widened. Basic emotions warred with caste-mandated duties and ingrained teachings, but the outcome was never in serious doubt, and Balak grabbed the dead guard's rifle, then sprinted down the stairway, towards the now clearly audible battle, trying to stick to the scant cover available. At the bottom of the steps, he peered past the ruined barrier generator, and froze for an eternal second.

The Hegemon's Strategium has seen better days - the viewscreens and terminals were riddled with bullets, the sizabe holomap in the center flickered with errors, both sounds and light dulled by the attackers. Batarian corpses lay on the floor, the Hegemon's personal bodyguards - most of them killed at their usual sentry posts, with only three out of more than a dozen showing signs of having fought back. In the far end of the room, the Hegemon stood tall, golden eyes glowing with fury, the Collector ambassador standing in front of him, a dark biotic sphere enclosing the two, keeping the attackers at bay. Maybe a dozen remaining guards desperately fired burst after burst in the vain hopes of hitting and downing the attackers, who moved with avian grace and riposted with deadly precision, their thermoptic camouflage rendering them barely visible ghosts only outlined by their muzzle flashes or when they released a biotic field.

He was rather confident that the sounds of combat masked his approach and movements, yet Balak took extra care in suppressing his breathing and lifting his rifle, before he sighted downrange, aiming at one of the beset guards - and when a distorted, barely-perceivable shadow rammed a pair of blades through the bodyguard's shields, armor and ribcage, Balak pulled the trigger. The long burst was rewarded with the flash of a collapsing kinetic shield, the detonation of a biotic barrier, and a splatter of blue turian blood. The captain allowed himself a grim smile as he mentally saluted his dead compatriot, lamenting that he would not be able to properly honor the man's unknowing sacrifice, as he was trying to take down the wounded Cabalist. And by the Pillars, the turian was swift - while Balak could faintly perceive the minute distortions of the active cloak, the assassin was fast enough to avoid the bullets he sent towards him with almost boneless grace, and closed with terrifying speed.

Balak cursed, as he desperately parried the first knife thrust with his rifle, ignored the burning claw marks on his chest where the cabalist's other hand found its mark. The turian seemed to hesitate for a fractional second, something akin to respect in his stance, then the batarian's world narrowed into the overwhelming need to survive just one more second, utilizing every martial skill he had been taught and had encountered during his service - while keeping a part of his attention on the battle beyond his would-be killer. He cursed himself for not being strong or fast enough, not skilled enough as more and more wounds were carved into his body - and he could only take a small measure of satisfaction that those wounds were a testament of his own skills, as the cabalist was clearly not playing with his prey. The batarian captain could have laughed on any other day, free and content with reaching somewhat of an impasse in close combat against a turian assassin, while lacking any hardsuit or dedicated weapon beside the omniblade. Yet at this time, he was just coldly furious and focused, ignoring his pain and the warnings of his battered body with sheer will - he had to eliminate this assailant, he had to stand at the side of his Hegemon, he could not leave the embodiment of the Pillars, the spiritual guide of his people at the mercy of assassins, only protected by an unknown, not fully trusted being - never mind that it was considered to be a herald of the gods.

The indistinct shapes of the cabalists converged on the darkly shimmering barrier protecting the Hegemon and the Collector emissary, having dispatched the bodyguards apart from Balak. The captain smiled a bloody grin at his assailant as he saw from the corner of his eye that the barrier held, even against four turians - then his grin morphed into a disbelieving frown as he saw a blade slip past with glacial, measured slowness, before embedding itself in the emissary's chest. The barrier exploded, throwing all but the Hegemon to the ground. The wounded Collector was burning up, its body consumed by the energies running rampant, flakes of formerly-living tissue swirling around it. A scream of denial tore from Balak's throat as four barely visible shapes descended on the Hegemon, deadly blades shining with cold darkness - and then he felt a wrenching discontinuity similar to a stasis field.

The Hegemon lit up with power, green energy tracing patterns on and around him, the pouncing cabalists seemingly frozen in the moment, before coruscating arcs of energy lashed from the shining batarian, burrowed into the turians, sending cybernetics and electronics haywire, turning their own bodies against the assassins. One of them dropped dead, thin tendrils of smoke wafting from his head and chest. Another fell to the side, struggling against the contradictory impulses of the cybernetic legs, trying to keep a bionic hand from strangling him. The last two dropped their smoldering omnitools, and circled the batarian leader, their movements only obscured by shadows and cloaks, instead of thermoptic camouflage. Daggers danced around the radiant figure, seeking his death, yet every blow was parried by fists wreathed in dark biotic fields, glanced off of enhanced armor, or barely grazed the marble-hard flesh.

Balak, one hand around the throat of the cabalist, the other locked on the turian's wrist, trying to prevent her from driving the dagger deeper, shuddered when he heard the deep laughter of the Hegemon, a faint yet so wrong mechanical echo following it just slightly out of sync. A pulse of some kind of energy brushed over them, and around the ruined strategium, dead bodyguards shambled to their feet, corpse-green tendrils of light flickering and burrowing over their bodies, tracing patterns of circuitry into flesh and armor alike, reshaping both, pairing off and merging former corpses into weapons of destruction. Lightning crackled from a dozen cannon transmogrified from husks of fallen batarians, and the two surviving cabalists barely dodged the first salvo.

One of them dove for the shambling mass of husks, daggers flashing as he tore into the cybernetic zombies, weaving between their shots, carving them apart piece by piece with preternatural swiftness, sending pieces and body parts flying with his rampage, putting down a score of the beasts. Unfortunately for him, the still-ambulatory husks closed on the downed ones, and devoured the cadavers, assimilating their material, turning it into extra layers of armor and muscle in a few heartbeats. The cabalist killed six more, before the rest proved to be more than a match for his daggers - after that, it was only a matter of time until a well-placed shot hit him in the exact wrong moment, disrupting his balance, allowing the remaining half dozen cannibals to close in and tear him apart.

The last turian fared little better when he attempted to finish their task and kill the Hegemon - and while he managed to punch a dagger into the batarian's chest, it was not blood that flowed, but a dark, slow ichor similar to those in machines, before the wound closed with a faint, sickly green light, dissolving the weapon causing it, absorbing its material into the Hegemon's armor. The air distorted around the cabalist as the localised gravity increase forced him to his knees, pinning him to the ground, perfectly positioned prey for the cannibal survivors of the bodyguards - before a gesture stopped the slavering cyberzombies.

" **DO** not **APPROACH** further. **THIS ONE** will **SERVE** otherwise."

* * *

 **Korlus, Imir system (07/04/2184)**

Despite her education, training, and personal experiences, Miranda Lawson found herself rather confused and irritated - and mostly because she had no good, valid explanation as to why they came to the prime shipbreaking system of the galaxy. Sure, already the exact method of their travelling was rather unusual, but nothing she couldn't grasp; after all, she herself has walked a similar path under Kathmandu, just as all N7 Deltas since the Leng Incursion. Most of her crewmates may have been shaken by the brief jaunt to the higher dimensional pathway taken by the two fleeing ships (Miranda made a mental note to commend Yeoman Chambers for her efforts in counseling, especially since the redhead too was affected to an extent) and the attendant disconnection from the linear flow of time, yet the only thing she marvelled at was the precise, unerring navigation conducted by Major Pieterzoon - especially since the man was, as far as she could tell, not even a biotic, much less a sorcerer. Though she ruefully supposed he did have the sorcerer-like ability to provide vague, elusive answers when she questioned him about the navigation method employed. In her considered opinion, that type of feedback was the main (if not sole) reason arcanoscience was still not considered a "proper" field in academia, despite its proven benefits, uses, and undeniable power. Honestly, would it have killed Major Pieterzoon to just give a more specific, saner hint than the need to be here?

The fact that the Normandy landed less than gracefully further irritated her, especially since she was knowledgeable enough to realize that without Lieutenant Moreau's skills, the ship would have been scattered over the surface. Still, that made the team's situation no less precarious - most of the crew were needed to conduct field repairs on the ship, ensure that the drive core did not cause problems, especially since their brief jaunt already agitated it to a considerable measure. This resulted in the ground team being considerably smaller than she would have preferred - while Miranda was reasonably certain that their trio could handle whatever insanity Korlus threw at them, she preferred to err on the side of caution and overkill, especially after the recent events at Haestrom. And of course, the three of them ran into the expected opposition - hulking, deformed, bloated krogan-things, clad in black armor sporting half-forgotten markings of Clan Ganar's distant past. A horde of biotic krogan would have been bad enough on its own, even if the beasts did not display the characteristic cunning and experience of battlemasters, but when the three humans brought down the first group, Miranda was disgusted and worried to note the marks of summoning and binding etched into both armor and protoplasmic flesh beneath. A shared glance with her companions was all it took - all of them had seen more than enough, and proceeded accordingly.

The numerous monstrosities were, alas, not entirely stupid - and with sheer numbers, along with overwhelming firepower, they managed to separate the intruding humans. Ordinarily, Miranda would not have worried too much, but against an unfamiliar foe capable of unknown arcane feats, augmented by these unholy creations, she was worried. Sure, they were still in contact over the comms, but they could no longer support each other immediately - even though the separation was partly their own plan. A part of the operative's mind laughed at the insanity of a trio of humans launching a three-pronged assault on the likely source of the modified krogan. Miranda's ruminations were rudely interrupted by a warning from the part of her mind she allocated to dealing with the combat. Her eyes widened a fraction as her instincts screamed of the danger. With a huff, she dashed to the side, before throwing herself into a new cover.

The operative risked a quick glance, her mind already calculating distances, firing angles, calling up and discarding tactics and tricks - then all rational planning went out the window in favor of a biotically-assisted dodge. With a shriek of tearing metal and the boom of displaced air, the hulking, distorted krogan-thing suddenly towered over her, the bore of its immense cannon yawning into her face, ready to turn her into red rain. Miranda tensed, time slowing as her mind raced through mnemonics, invocations, all the while rebalancing herself from the minute dizziness and nausea caused by her previous dodge. Suppurating, cancerous flesh and brackish, tainted blood geysered from beneath shattered armor plates as a high-caliber shell impacted the beast's arm, throwing off its aim, the oversized shotgun blast tearing mostly into the wreckage - while still retaining enough energy and focus to almost completely deplete Miranda's shields and barrier. Her biotics lit up around her fist, and with a control gesture, she lifted the brute in the air - then, with a snarl, slammed the krogan down with vicious force, taking care to direct its landing towards a spar of broken, jagged steel. The impaled monstrosity twitched once, then again, its regenerative abilities going into overdrive as the enhanced material of its body fought to save its existence. Miranda switched her SMG to the appropriate setting, intent on burning the creature to death - before she again was forced to dodge, four more of the hunting pack closing in on her.

The operative's lips peeled back in an eager, cold smile under her helmet. A brief gesture sent a cloud of debris towards the hunters - a mere annoyance to them, a futile gesture of a run-down prey. Or so the krogan-things might have thought, before she launched a warping field towards them. The explosion sent even the living tanks reeling for a second, and that was all she needed.

Miranda realized her mistake the moment she smeared the fourth brute all over the scarred hull plates of a long-gone ship, the remains sizzling and hissing after she sent a short burst of inferno rounds into them.

"Clever bastards."

Sure, the things were inexperienced, relied by default on traditional, typical krogan tactics and moves - but they were not mindless robots. And they had numbers on their side. Numbers that allowed the pack apparently hunting Miranda to sacrifice five of them for a distraction. And now she was surrounded by nineteen of the things. The operative huffed, angry at herself. She blink-clicked the emergency beacon of her armor, alerting Shepard and Pieterzoon (though she knew it to be futile), called up her biotics with a flash of blue, her mouth twisted as she prepared to voice the invocations necessary to at least take the creatures with her.

With a thunderous concussion, a blue comet slammed into the leftmost brute, sending bits of the thing flying from the impact. A bare instant later, the new arrival's Claymore tore off the head of a second creature as a third had its chest pulped by a blue-glowing fist. A fourth was sent reeling with a headbutt, before an almost-negligent control gesture sent it flying at breakneck speed, its trajectory impaling it on a battered console. For a brief instant, the tableau was still, the brutes and Miranda alike reassessing the situation - then from the operative's right side, a gout of flame engulfed three of the monsters. Her comm crackled to life, and the rough growl of an elderly human sounded in her ears, and her eyes widened as she recognized the voice.

"Cheer up luv, the goddamn cavalry is here."

* * *

"Shepard."

"Wrex."

"You look quite well for an officially dead Spectre." The old krogan's grin reminded Miranda of a shark, and she had to suppress a shiver. "Most would not weather being spaced that well. Benefits of a redundant nervous system and extra organs, no doubt."

"Wrex, you know humans don't have those."

"Then the pain'll perhaps teach you not to pull such insane stunts, Shepard." The warlord huffed, shook his massive head. "Really, what the hell were you thinking, going up against a dreadnought-grade weapon like that?"

Miranda tensed, her eyes narrowed as he detected a hint of something in the krogan's voice - barely there, hidden deep beyond the joking tone, but someone like her could perceive it nevertheless. And if she noticed, then so did Shepard; yet the Spectre just relaxed his posture and met the warlord's burning gaze.

"Wrex, the Collectors were firing on the escape pods. They already killed my ship along with some of the crew, and they wanted to finish the job. You of all people should know that one's crew is one's krantt - and I protect my krantt, no matter the cost."

Tension crackled between the two Spectres, as Miranda subtly began to prepare for the possible volatile confrontation, not liking their chances at all. Then the old warlord nodded, barking a gruff laugh.

"So it is you, after all, not just some flesh puppet directed by another's will." Red eyes glared at Miranda for a heartbeat. "Your kind does have an unfortunate tendency to meddle with things best left alone and forgotten." He waved a massive paw in Miranda's direction, and for some absurd reason, the operative saw a wise old king dispensing justice from his marble throne, instead of a battered old krogan warlord. "At least she seems sane and competent enough. But mark my words, Shepard - one day your kind will make a mistake and call up something which you cannot put down."

"First we have to survive the coming storm, Wrex." Shepard leaned forward a bit, grinning at the warlord. "Want to tell me why the first krogan Spectre is here, of all places?" The grin sharpened, showing teeth. "Instead of on Tuchanka, as we planned, hmm?"

Miranda tensed again, sure that Wrex would tear off the human's head for the tone of the question, yet the old krogan was still, only his eyes seemed to burn with a baleful, furious light.

"Okeer's here, Shepard." Wrex grated. "And he has been busy. You met a few of his failed experiments already; Zaeed's people" he waved at the impatient-looking, scarred mercenary "have fought them daily for about a month or so." He took a deep breath, and Miranda could practically feel the effort of will it took to keep calm. "Shepard, he's fusing some kind of primordial material to krogan DNA to find a cure for the genophage. I have no idea from where he got the tech that grows the armor on his clones, but I do not want that kind of machinery lying around."

Miranda made a mental note to herself at that - while she could agree with Wrex on the dangers of such archeotech, the armoring process and its hardware could be useful for Cerberus and humanity to jumpstart their own research using the theoretical breakthroughs such a find would indubitably yield. And even if the machinery could not be used for research, she was not sure its destruction could be entrusted to any other race.

"Goddamn crazy bastard probably got it from some half-forgotten idiots like the Collectors, or bought it from some archeotech scavenger on Omega." Zaeed's voice was rough, tired, as he spoke while cleaning a battered M7 Lancer. "I've seen some borderline-Operatic shit way back when I still ran the Suns - hell, I had front-row seats on the second Acheron drop, but compared to this, that was mere child's play."

The operative fought to control her wince at the mention of that accursed planet; it was definitely not one of humanity's best moments, all things considered. Though she could not recall Zaeed or the Blue Suns being involved, not even in the classified records. This would bear investigation later.

"If you've been tangling with them for a month, I guess you do know where Okeer's lair is?"

The grizzled mercenary nodded at Shepard's question.

"Yeah, we do know. Problem is, goddamn clones chewed my men to pieces - quite a few of them literally. Hell, Jedore, that poor dumb bitch, had rallied over a hundred of the old gang here with maybe twice the number of LOKI mechs, a couple gunships and a dozen YMIRs, all in the name of mounting that bastard Vido's head on my wall" Zaeed spat to the side, gestured towards the ragged group lounging nearby. "Those sorry lot are all that's left. If not for the old bastard here, probably not even half of us would be left, and we'd be clonefood within a week, at best."

Shepard's gaze lingered on the mercs, evaluating their equipment, then frowned at their leader.

"You planned a suicide run?"

Zaeed chuckled without mirth, his omnitool flickering as he transferred the map data to Shepard.

"Nah, not exactly. Figured no matter how crazy Okeer is, not even he can get to the ass end of nowhere without a ship. Planned to take it and get the hell out of this goddamn junkyard." The grizzled mercenary flashed them a sharklike grin. "Though I was planning to drop all our incendiaries on the goddamn maniac's head. No matter how tough, not even krogans could walk off an inferno of that magnitude."

Miranda noted the look Shepard and Wrex shared, and apparently so did Zaeed, who huffed.

"Well, that was the goddamn plan anyway. Knowing my luck, this particular bastard of a krogan would have been the first to shrug off that much fire."

"See, Butcher, even crusty old bastards like Zaeed don't really think things through. You can't send off a thing like Okeer from afar; you have to get close and personal to make sure the bastard's deader than dead."

"Well then, let's not disappoint your old friend, Wrex." Shepard's omnitool lit up, displaying the map he received from Zaeed, and the two Spectres leaned closer along with the old merc.

And despite her so-called family, her chosen profession, her personal experiences, Miranda could not suppress a shiver of dread (and excitement) as she saw the identical smile worn by both Shepard and Wrex - even as a distant, calculating part of her mind began to plan and consider how to ensure that the selfsame expression was directed towards her own father.

* * *

Okeer's lair felt alive to Miranda - a living, breathing, corrupted thing, an unholy fusion of organic and technological. Beetle-black carapace, many-jointed limbs, pulsing arteries threaded through the hull of the once-spaceworthy vessel, demented murals of sentients leered from the walls, as if the originals were simply consumed by the metal. The damp, oppressive air carried a whiff of loathsome, repulsive fecundity that clawed and wormed its way toward the operative's mind and sterile womb alike, pushing unwanted, forbidden images, deeply-hidden, soured fantasies into the forefront of her mind, dangling the impossible dream before her. Miranda smiled, a cold, vicious expression - then schooled her features, as her mind went through the lower enumerations, steeling and focusing her will, shutting out the insidious influence of the repulsive entity that was bound into the walls of the lair.

She checked on her teammates, assessing their reactions to the disturbing technorganic complex around them. Most of the still-alive mercenaries were visibly affected by the worming influence of the genius loci, with Zaeed and a turian female being the few exceptions; the old mercenary spat to the side with narrowed, furious eyes, and the turian simply relaxed with a slight amusement radiating from her posture. Miranda would not have expected the two Spectres to show any kind of reaction - yet she was mistaken. Well, to be precise, both Wrex and Shepard seemed to ignore the siren call of the complex, yet she was already familiar enough with both that she could discern their body language - and both were radiating tension, almost as if they were familiar with the place. Which was impossible; neither of them would have ventured into Okeer's lair without obliterating it thoroughly. Her mind raced as she considered other possible reasons, and her eyes widened as she realized it, and not even her will was enough to prevent blurting it out.

"Similar to Feros, right?"

The two Spectres shared a look, before turning towards her in sync. Wrex glared, but without extra heat, probably just his default expression due to the location. Shepard sported a small smile, as he nodded, but it was the krogan who answered.

"Close enough. Okeer likely made a pact with the creature that birthed the Thorian - and that thing seemingly holds a grudge against Shepard and me." Wrex grinned savagely. "Can't think why it would feel like that; do you, Butcher?"

Shepard only rolled his eyes, before he took a deep breath and turned to the old human mercenary.

"Zaeed, it'd be probably best if your men remained behind."

The merc glared, opened his mouth for a retort, then closed it. He turned towards the few remaining men of his, then nodded.

"Fine, you have a goddamn point, Shepard." Zaeed turned towards the turian female. "Severina, get this sorry lot out of here, take up positions around the mapped and likely exits. Nobody gets out apart from us. We're not back in a few hours, blow the place up, or shoot yourselves in the head." A pointed cough from Miranda resulted in the merc huffing, but he went on grudgingly. "Or you could try and shoot your way to their ship, and run like the goddamn hounds of hell were at your heels." Zaeed grinned mirthlessly. "Come to think of it, that may be literally true. Should be fun, either way. Now, get your sorry asses moving, you goddamned idiots."

Thus, only four of them descended into the dank, dark depths of Okeer's lair, following the guidance of the quiet fifth member, whose sheer normalcy was enough for Miranda to almost forget that Pieterzoon was there at all. For a moment, she mused if that was just an aspect of power in him, a conscious effort resulting in clouding the minds and senses around him, to blend into the background - and she shook the thought off with a whimsical expression. No, there was not a shred of power clinging to the ex-N7; not biotic, not esoteric, nothing. He simply was a normal human, if exceedingly skilled. And yet, the man once again managed to steer them through an eldritch labyrinth, even when their comms and automaps were glitching along with their suit sensors; when her own senses tried to convince her that they have been walking in circles for days while her armor's chronometer insisted that it had been just fifteen minutes, when it was not displaying a date four years in the future. The breathing, disturbingly alive-seeming walls did not help her mood in the slightest.

Neither did the fact that flashes sickly green corpse-light, harsh blue electric discharges, and rhytmically pulsing vein-like conduits alike seemed to guide them as well, ever deeper into the womb of Okeer's lair, towards the likely source of the fetid abomination of metal and biomass that the twisted wreck had become. Miranda was not the only one who noticed, as she could see the reactions from her comrades. As she perhaps should have expected, Wrex was the one who spoke out first.

"How nice, we are getting invited." The old krogan checked the ammo block of his Claymore, checked something on his HUD, before he flashed a savage leer at the humans. "Let's not keep him waiting."

Zaeed grinned mirthlessly as he tugged on his bandolier of grenades. Shepard sunk into an almost-trance for a moment, before nodding resolutely. Miranda herself took a deep breath, focusing her will and awareness to their immediate vicinity, her biotics surging as a predatory gleam lit up in her gaze. Pieterzoon checked on his weird compass, murmuring under his breath in an unknown language, and Miranda caught the glint of a short, bared blade at his side where before she could spot nothing of the kind. Her eyes narrowed, as her mind raced. Of course he had to come with them, as unobtrusively as possible - after all, while four was a good number, five was so much better when it came to containing the beings from Beyond. She should have guessed from the first - Professor Yildirim has likely foreseen just this, and ensured that even without his presence, they did stand a chance. She really would need to corner the professor one of these days to ask for lessons.

The tunnel widened, and the small team stepped out into what once was probably the engine room of a dreadnought-sized vessel - and was now disturbingly akin to an immense, biomechanical womb. Okeer was standing in the middle of the room, on a somewhat cleared, elevated space, studying a bank of monitors with smug satisfaction radiating off him. Behind him, on the far side, though … Miranda had to clamp down on her body's reactions to avoid vomiting.

What she saw was once a mere stasis pod, not much different from what Cerberus used to preserve Shepard's physical body while they worked on guiding him back. Pulsing conduits coated in fleshy growths plugged into the framework supporting the contraption, emitting fetid vapors, expelling biomass that moaned and writhed as it flowed into half-formed shapes before merging back into the source. Threaded through the moss, burning with corpse-green light, a complex web of circuitry shone, the intensity of the light reacting to the rhythmic pulsing of the conduits. Surrounding it all, etched into the wall and the floor, an intricate array of glyphs seared into the eyes and minds of the onlookers, and the ONI agent could not suppress a shiver as she recognized a few of them. Six broken husks that were once krogan females were arranged in a hexagon around the central pod, their bodies distorted with loathsome growths, their very flesh violated by the alien circuitry, the glyphs carved into their flesh pulsing in sync with their breathing. The seventh female was directly linked to the stasis pod, the machine acting as a perverse parody of a womb. Within the pod, a grown krogan slumbered, unaware of its surroundings, untouched by the corpse-green energies or the eldritch energies.

"Welcome, Wrex." Okeer's voice was tired but triumphant. "Finally, you can feast your eyes on the salvation of our race."

"You are mad, Okeer." Miranda startled as she heard a note of pity in the old warlord's voice. "I came to kill an old enemy, and now it seems I have to put down a rabid dog instead."

Okeer turned towards them, and something moved beneath his skin, as he smiled at them, his eyes blazing.

"You disappoint me, Wrex. Of all our self-deluding kind, I always thought you were able to look into the future, to our salvation." He stepped to the side, seemingly unaware of the cancerous growths writhing under his skin. "I have freed the krogan from the genophage, young Urdnot. The krogan descending from my last son will be perfect, free from our past mistakes. They shall be indomitable in body and will alike, untouched by disease or plague, and no sickness shall blight them. Theirs will be a power unmatched - thus is our bargain with The Prolonged of Life and the Great Mother, and the krogans of today will pay the price for the future of our race, with..."

If not for her training and willpower, Miranda may have frozen at hearing those names; even so, she took a precious second to fully assess the depth of Okeer's madness. Still, she reacted faster than Zaeed, barely a half-beat behind Shepard, her mouth forming words of power, as her corona ignited with harsh blue light - then a chunk of Okeer's torso exploded in a welter of ichor, armor shards, pulped bone, and half-melted, cancerous flesh, and Wrex pumped his shotgun, his other hand wreathed in murderous light, as a bolt of coherent light evaporated part of Okeer's skull.

The wounded krogan laughed, the sound reverberating across the higher dimensions, as Okeer's mangled body bubbled and frothed, birthing protoplasmic replacement organs, muscles, skin and armor from the non-euclidean depths, the new parts of the warlord's body rendering him partially transparent, almost as if he were intangible, invisible to normal eyes or sensors attuned to the sane, physical reality. Shepard's omniblade was deflected by a biotic pulse that threw the N7 Delta to the side, the man barely evading the writhing cables that sought to ensnare him. Wrex' shotgun boomed again, evaporating some biomass, but his follow-up biotic strike unbalanced him as his fist seemingly pulled him into the abyss that was Okeer's form, and the krogan Spectre had to pull himself back with his biotics. Zaeed fired in short, controlled bursts as he prowled closer, before lobbing an inferno grenade at the abomination, who caught it with a precise biotic field, and smirked smugly at the old human - then howled as the grenade exploded when a lasbolt hit it, and flames boiled away parts of the Okeer-thing.

Miranda cried out, a sharp, nails-on-chalkboard sound, and a barely visible blade of force cut into the unnatural mass of Okeer, sending ichor spraying. The ONI sorceress flashed a savage grin, her mind directing the construct for another strike, before she had to leap aside from a loose cable intent on choking her. Her biotics flashed as her barrier materialized, as her blade bit into the immaterial biomass once more. The temperature in the room dropped sharply for a moment, hoarfrost spreading from Shepard, before the N7 swayed, his face a mask of blood beneath his helmet, and Okeer laughed triumphantly. Miranda's eyes narrowed, her gaze tracking across the chamber - she could have sworn that certain glyphs were pulsing more intensively now, their cadence attuned to Shepard's heartbeat, drawing in his power, his essence. She took a deep breath, her mind rising through the enumerations as she focused her will to shatter the glyphs - then a quick burst of lasbolts hit the markings in precisely the correct angle to burn away their symmetry, unbalance that part of Okeer's web.

The warlord roared, a bubbling, frothing, bleating chorus. Suppurating, cancerous growths bubbled within and over his bloating form, as the wind picked up around Okeer, carrying a yet distant echo of flutes, along with the deep musk of a rotting, festering innards of an ancient forest. He seemed to collapse into himself while simultaneously bloating with muscle and biomass, as protoplasmic flesh surged beneath his torn armor, his whole body becoming more and more translucent, disappearing from eyes and sensors alike.

Wrex swapped ammo blocks, then his Claymore roared again, sending a storm of minuscule particles towards the partially phased-out Okeer, who howled in impotent fury, as the dust settled over him, outlining his form, slowly but surely eating its way into the distorted flesh.

"Old fool, you think that you're the only one who remembers the ancient ways?" Wrex snarled, his biotics surging as his free hand traced a pattern in the air, leaving burning glyphs in its wake. "You sold yourself for power, let Them use you, invited them into your own self - but you forgot that even They can be bound and banished."

Miranda's eyes widened as her mind tracked Wrex' glyphs, sought the pattern, the meaning in them, while adapting her own knowledge to fit and assist, her voice a ringing, sharp counterpoint to the deep basso growl of the krogan Spectre, as the two of them struggled to weave an arcane net fit to bind an entity of Okeer's power. The insane warlord bleated out a senseless, echoing rumble of harsh, basso syllables, entreating his patrons, pitting his will against that of Wrex and Miranda. The ONI sorceress felt her knees give way as the ancient malevolence of Okeer's mind crashed down on her, seeking ingress to make her obedient, subservient - a good, mindless little tool for forces far beyond her limited understanding. After all, her kind was only good as that, wasn't she? Maybe then her father would actually show her an amount of kindness, support both her and her sister, instead of...

For a moment, even Miranda's mind threatened to buckle under the strain, bowing to the external pressure - then her eyes blazed with power, her mind seeking the lofty peaks of the highest enumerations, as her very being rejected the insidious influence battering at her soul. Calmly, precisely, her mind put together the necessary words in four heartbeats, used another two to consider the amount of damage speaking those utterances would inflict on her, deemed it acceptable - and then she realized she was not alone in facing the beast.

Wrex slowly forced his way towards Okeer, his biotics flaring as he threw field after field at the abomination, his shotgun booming with deceptive quickness. Shepard closed as well, his handgun barking again and again as the omniblade in his other hand burned deeper and deeper into the non-euclidean flesh of the Okeer-thing. Zaeed was circling behind them, taking potshots at the abomination, but mostly focused on keeping the swaying, errant conduits from entangling the team, and Miranda had to admire the old merc's marksmanship - and of course whenever he was close enough, the scarred human used the opportunity to hit the eldritch monster with an inferno grenade. She could not see where Pieterzoon was, but the precise lasbolt hits that weakened, erased glyph after glyph spoke eloquently about his survival, as did the gleaming golden blade spinning towards the struggling trio.

Miranda flashed a savage grin at Okeer, despite her pain, as she caught the minute stumble in the old warlord's incantation as he struggled to hold back Shepard and Wrex while keeping the blade in sight. With a gurgling, phlegm-laced cry, she released her power, and what was left of Okeer's lungs filled with water. Sure, it was by no means deadly for a creature so heavily infused with eldritch protoplasmic matter, but the momentary struggle to adjust to the fluid within its bodymass was enough for another, brief lapse in concentration. And when one was facing two Spectres in close combat, those few heartbeats were more than enough.

Wrex blazed with blue-with light, as he charged Okeer from point-blank, his shotgun sending blasts of the eldritch powdery substance into the Okeer-thing, pulling the protoplasmic beast back towards the sane, comprehensible dimensions, making it visible and vulnerable. Shepard's biotics flashed as he pulled a whirling blade into his hand, and stabbed deep into the monster's biomass, golden-blue light flaring as the higher dimensions crumbled. An eye-searing bolt of lightning arced deep within the endless confines of the Okeer-thing. The being let out a bellowing, bleating sound full of the thwarted wrath of an enraged mother and defeated warlord, as the winds within and around him howled with glee, a desert-dry whisper of sound laughing maliciously at the once-proud krogan warlord falling ever deeper into its warped, protoplasmic vessel. With a dwindling wail of frustrated rage, the thing that had been Ganar Okeer collapsed into itself, vanishing into the non-euclidean depths of the higher dimensions he himself conjured.

"What now, Wrex? Any ideas what to do with Okeer's last pet project?" Shepard panted, spitting blood.

"Burn it all, right?" Zaeed's voice was hoarse, strained.

Miranda considered, struggling to to get her breathing and body back under control as she limped towards the control panel, watching Wrex from the corner of her eyes. She figured the old warlord would probably lean towards Zaeed's solution, and she could not exactly find fault in that. Still, there was a chance that something could be salvaged from this madness, so while Wrex was slowly walking towards the half-alive females, Miranda was running a decryption program on Okeer's main console, hoping that she was able to access at least some of the research data before Wrex put an end to it all.

The Urdnot chief stood before the central pod, yet his gaze was upon the mutilated, distorted females arranged around it. While his stance and visage appeared calm, the brief flashes of his biotics indicated the measure of his fury. As a counterpoint to the soft chime that indicated to Miranda that the data download has begun, the Claymore in Wrex' hand roared again and again, freeing the females from their imprisonment the only way possible. When the old warlord turned towards the humans, Miranda noticed that even Shepard took an involuntary half-step back from the immense wrath radiating from the slightly smiling krogan face.

"I guess you started messing with the data already, haven't you?" Miranda forced herself to nod and meet the warlord's smoldering gaze as calmly as she could. True, Okeer's methods were beyond insane, yet he did not have the resources of Cerberus at his disposal - with those, Miranda felt hopeful that they could adapt and improve on the work, make it more stable, more palatable to sane beings. "Quick summary, then. Is the thing in the tank stable?"

Miranda could have scoffed at that question. As if anyone could perform such an in-depth study in mere moments, or minutes at most, instead of weeks and months of dedicated work by a team of scientists; and that's not even considering the location. Still, she could somewhat understand the krogan Spectre, and honestly had no wish to antagonize him in this state. The ONI sorceress flipped rapidly through the console screens, rapid-reading the data as she scrolled, her mind rising through the enumerations to enhance her focus and cognitive abilities, looking for deviations, signs of contamination, of possible, engineered inroads for possession. She found none - not that she expected any, in such circumstances.

"Nothing obvious, Spectre Urdnot." She felt inordinately proud at how calm she sounded and that she managed to keep eye contact with the towering battlemaster. "Then again, I don't think you expected anything different - not from Okeer, insane though he was. I would recommend leaving the specimen in stasis, while a dedicated team studies Okeer's work."

"Why study it, witch? It's an abomination, and not even you should deny that!"

"I am not denying it, Spectre Urdnot." If Miranda's face was a bit paler than usual, nobody could blame her, all things considered. "I also do not want to thoughtlessly throw away the research your people paid for with their life and soul. Not to mention Mordin Solus might have some use of the data in his work."

Shepard grinned, before the krogan spoke, addressing the human Spectre.

"Why am I not surprised at her opinion, Butcher?"

"Maybe because you know her, or at least her type, old turtle?"

Wrex' eyes narrowed at Shepard, as he flashed a savage grin.

"Eh, close enough. But the next time you bring your date to work, warn me beforehand, Shepard - I'm getting too old for these stupid courtship rituals of yours."

Miranda felt torn between wanting to tear the old warlord apart, sinking into the floor, and laughing herself silly at Shepard's betrayed, poleaxed face. Zaeed and Pieterzoon had no such problems, and laughed outright.


End file.
